Silhouette
by Frostglitch
Summary: Midoriya Izuku remembers a life that is not his own. (Gen)
1. One and All

**A/N : I was actually working on another fic when I thought of this a few days ago. This is part of my long-term plan of getting more people interested in bokura no kiseki, probably. (my other unpublished wips that are /years/ older are sitting off to the side. there's something wrong with this picture.)**

 **Some specific things to note:**

 **1) The planning for this isn't complete. I have a beginning, some middle, a climax, and an ending.**

 **2) As the tag specifies, there are no planned pairings. You can interpret interactions as you like.**

 **3) Chapters after this will be more grounded in the "present." Because this one takes place over the course of a handful of years leading up to the present, it's not as immersed. Continuing from here it will be. (More dialogue, obvious interactions, etc.)**

 **4) I recommend reading this on ao3, because I included art. ^^**

 **Anyway I hope you enjoy! Please read bokura no kiseki.**

* * *

Midoriya Izuku remembers a life that is not his own.

He has always been a bright child. Learning came easily to him, and he relished the proud smiles and praise he would receive from the teachers and his mother. A curious mind, one filled with a grand interest and creative wonder, seeking out answers to the world.

He starts to realize differences, though, in that he knows things he should not. He's always been good at math, but knowing historical dates far before they're discussed in class, understanding formulas he's never learned, words he's never heard—

—Seven years old he recalls another life and thinks, _Ah_.

(The memories he has recalls a study of the philosophies in his earlier years. Not the greatest familiarity of the religions, and they are but a distant memory, but reincarnation isn't a foreign concept, though the retention of memories is.

(But that isn't what matters, he doesn't think of gods or souls or karma. Rather, he decides to focus on the present. The current, the tangible.)

He makes comparisons. He entertains that he may be in a different world altogether, or far, far off into the future—he has no recollection of the name of his memories or anything related, but he remembers a surge of people with powers, like here, too. Only more discontent.

Powerless were the majority, and the mutants, those who surfaced with powers of impossible proportion, were feared. Marginalized. They weren't called "quirks" but mutations, superpowers, curses. He doesn't remember much, but he was of the majority then.

Quirkless then and now. Phantom feelings more potent than the memories echo distantly, of sadness, betrayal, others that he can't put words to. He can't remember details or names, and doesn't remember whatever life it was that he led before.

(Bitterness, a resolute ideal but one tinged with a sense of having lost something vital, important, made callous with the sting of betrayal.)

Whoever he was doesn't want to remember, and Izuku wholeheartedly agrees.

* * *

"Quirkless Deku!"

The other children jeer and shout, pointed fingers and mocking laughs directed at him. Izuku sniffles and grips the hem of his shirt, willing the warm tears to go away.

A part of him remembers being quirkless before, of being met with a similar scorn, but for reasons of an entirely different nature. He remembers a time, a place, where the standard was reversed, when the world was full of fear and change.

" _People are people._ " The statement echoes in his head, like the steady chime of a bell.

Izuku's tears dry in the complicated mass of what he feels, in the confusion running circles in his head. He walks away, something different unfurling in his mind.

"People are people," he says the next time they corner him. "We're no different."

His words do nothing for them, only grant the bewilderment owed to the obtuse statement, but they echo something resolute for him. Give him something to hold fast to. To steady.

They don't tease him again.

* * *

He had a brother, Izuku thinks. The person of his memories that he cannot recall had a brother.

Faces and names remain a blank void where a connection once existed, but the idea of that family leaves a lonely impression. An impression of distance from estranged parents. An impression of impossible to discern, overwhelming sensation from a loved but enigmatic brother.

Strong in resolution and physique, with an impossible intellect, he had a charisma that gathered the masses.

Izuku sits in class one day and wonders, briefly, at the similarities between the brother and Kacchan. Kacchan is strong. Kacchan is liked by everyone in his class. He's smart, he's cool, he's determined and has a neat quirk. Kacchan can also be scary, and sometimes his actions baffle Izuku.

But no, he thinks, that still isn't quite right. Kacchan is like dynamite, in quirk and temperament—explosive, living in short, quick bursts of emotion and power, not quite in control yet. Strong like a natural and wild flame, but with noticeable weakness. Unmistakably human. Young. Replenishable, but something… somehow more benign.

The brother of his memories is something different. Something represented with an underlying fear, with respect. Quiet and unyielding, a slow, methodical simmering of something volatile. Dangerous. Corrosive, like acid.

Izuku wonders about the relationship between his past memories and the brother, for the strongest impression to be something so scary. Complicated, laced with sadness, guilt, fear, anger—and that sense of betrayal.

His memories don't fear the brother despite this, they fear _for_ him. But Izuku is Izuku, and the brother of his memories gives a chilling unease that a past familial bond cannot erase.

* * *

Izuku loves his mother.

Kind, genuine, attentive. She fusses over any injury to his person, asks him about his day when she picks him up from school. She maintains a positive air, and when she can't, she tells him simply, "I'm just not feeling quite right today, no need for you to worry." They don't have the most money, but she always makes a point of getting him something for his birthday, for Christmas, often something All Might related. She questions him about friends, about his studies, and gets after him when he forgets.

"Don't forget to put your jacket away."

"Make sure you turn off the TV when you're done, all right?"

"Thirty minutes. If you're still in the bathroom after that, I'm going to come in to check on you."

Sometimes it almost feels stifling. But she's also one of the only influences that keep him grounded in the now, the current, of this world.

It's not too difficult, as he doesn't remember a name or face and the few details he does know are obscure, but sometimes he needs to be pulled away. The natural curiosity that comes from the blanks calls to him, and it's his mother, his admiration for All Might, his dream, that keep him grounded in the present. Physical reminders like a pat on the head, a brush on his arm, and strong feeling that separates him as distinctly Midoriya Izuku.

(That day she found him dreaming in the bathtub, she had gone into a frenzy of worry and fussing. Questions, whether he was okay, what happened, did she need to call a doctor—Izuku, in a quiet daze, grabbed her hand and said, "Stay." She accepted him for it.)

There's a part of him that will never forget her apology, a part too old, too sad, too bitter. But it also remembers the past. Remembers passive stares and unmet expectations, bitter comparisons and letdowns. Remembers coldness where there is now warmth, criticism where there is affection. He remembers being older, years older than herself, and the part of him that is too old, too sad, too bitter, thinks that she is all too young, too.

But Midoriya Izuku is Midoriya Izuku, not yet ten years old, and he takes this all in stride.

He loves his mother, and couldn't ask for anything more.

* * *

Izuku doesn't know how to handle the situation with Kacchan.

Izuku thinks he's avoiding him, but it's also not obvious enough for that to be the case. Kacchan doesn't really do surreptitious, he's always in the spotlight. The center of attention.

His memories sway him otherwise. They give him an idea and a small nudge.

(A feeling of indulgence, expectation, confidence; unfamiliar echoes resounding through him as forgotten sensation.)

"Kacchan, can I eat lunch with you?"

The other boy narrows his eyes at him from where he sits, in irritation or anger or wariness Izuku isn't sure. He swallows down the nervousness he feels. "I'm, trying to learn how to cook, to help my mom," he says, sitting down in the seat next to his friend with a calm that is somewhat real. Nervous, but determined. "I thought you could maybe, give me an outside opinion before I cook anything for her…?"

Kacchan isn't an enemy. He isn't evil. He wants to become a hero, just like Izuku. But Izuku has always been warily respectful of him, and somehow, he knows the quiet distance he usually adheres to would not be appreciated.

Kacchan opens up his own lunch box and jabs at the rice in an aggressive stab. "I don't want _your_ food."

But he doesn't tell him to go away. Izuku considers it a small success.

* * *

Izuku reaffirms his dream the day he wakes up with the feeling of liquid too warm, too wet, too thick on his hands. He throws up in the bathroom, tries to scrub away the phantom sensation and the smell of bile.

"It never happened," he says to himself in a warbled whisper, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. _It never happened_. Guilty conscience, his memories tell him, fear and helplessness and perceived inevitability—

—figurative and symbolic, guilt from relation of circumstance. _It never happened._

His mother pulls his red red red hands from the cold water, tugs him away from the sink into the living room. She presses a warm mug into his hands and hugs him tightly. He leans into her embrace, letting the soft warmth of his drink seep into his hands, his body.

 _I won't let it happen_ , he tells himself. There is no inevitability, he is Midoriya Izuku, not his memories. A different life, a different family, circumstance, body, society—he is Midoriya Izuku, and he decides:

"I'm going to become a hero, mom."

* * *

Midoriya Izuku isn't strong.

He's quirkless, with thin arms and legs, an untrained body that struggles to breathe after slowly running a short distance. He tires after a few exercises that his year-mates can do with minimal effort. He trips when his feet begin to drag in exhaustion, barely catches himself before his face meets the concrete.

He isn't sick. He's quirkless, but he isn't sick. Just untrained.

Izuku grits his teeth and picks himself up. He continues running.

* * *

A cold breeze tickles at Izuku's neck, and he shrugs the collar of his jacket a little higher for protection from the chill. It's spring, but winter still lingers in the air, the ice just barely thawing.

"Are you sure you don't want me to carry that?"

His mother beams at him, shaking her head. "No, but thank you. You just carry your schoolbooks."

Izuku bobs his head in lieu of answering. His bag isn't that heavy, especially not with how he's gotten stronger as of late. The groceries are heavier in his opinion, with milk and eggs and water and all sorts of other things carefully sorted into four different bags.

His mom is stronger than she looks. It gives him an odd sense of pride and comfort.

"... Oh," his mother murmurs, frowning. "That doesn't look good."

Izuku follows her line of sight, spotting the large crowd blocking their path home and spilling out into the road. A car accident, maybe? But no, it's off of the road, down the sidewalk into the local park.

Izuku jogs ahead. He hears what sounds like an impact on metal as he approaches, but isn't sure. He asks a bystander at the edge of the crowd when he reaches the site.

"Hostage situation," the man says. Izuku peers over the sea of heads and shoulders his way through the congested crowd.

 _Hostage situation_ , Izuku confirms quietly, watching a broad-shouldered man wrestle a teen to the ground. The shorter one shouts, telling the crowd to stay back, the boy to stay still. The light posts are warped in odd shapes, the glass windows of nearby shops blasted through. Murmurs spread throughout the crowd.

(Something quiet and unsettled bubbles beneath the surface.)

Izuku watches along with the other onlookers as the teen struggles against the two villains holding him in place. Suddenly the larger one yelps, pulling his hand away from where he kept the teen silenced. The boy lurches forward in a frantic movement with his arms pinwheeling, shouts:

" _H-HELP ME!_ "

A hand grasps his collar after the second step.

Izuku watches as the two villains curse and pull and shove, and the man with the grey mask slams the teen's head into the concrete.

His mother's hand is a warm, steadying weight on his shoulder.

"I hope he'll be okay…"

"Where are the heroes? That poor kid…"

"How could they do that? What monsters…"

Izuku watches the continuing struggle. The shorter of the two villains holds his hand out, and something small, metal, whizzes through the air into his hand.

( _"I can't do anything." Palms upturned, eyes to the heavens. "What do you want from me? I can't do anything."_ )

Izuku watches.

A trail of red streams down from the teen's hairline, seen even from this careful distance. His eyes are wide, frantic, as he stares into the crowd. Izuku thinks the boy is staring at him.

Tears edge the corners of eyes full of fear and pain. He blinks, dazed, but his eyes remain fixed to the crowd with a heavy weight—a single message—

 _Help me._

Izuku _moves_.

 _Warped metal, control. Telekinesis? Electromagnetism._ His hands pull at the straps of his bag as his feet carry him forward leap by leap. _No, the glass, maybe one of them but that kind of widespread damage is something else. Some kind of pulse, a wave of expelled energy_ —

He ducks and rolls under what looks like a metal beam as it travels towards him. He spares a glance back with wide eyes—it doesn't continue its path, halts and swerves around.

That answers that question.

He pushes his legs to carry him faster, further, _hurry_ ; the distance closes quickly. He leaps to the side just as the beam flies past him, the sharp air current whistling by his ear. The villains duck away in surprise.

His heart beats rapidly in his throat.

A lunge, a wind-up, heaviest textbook in hand—the villain holding the boy crumples into a heap, knocked out cold. Izuku tries to push the majority of his weight off of the injured teen. He's deathly pale, sweat beading on his forehead and neck.

Panic wells up, no longer suppressed— _He's not breathing_.

"Hey!" Izuku slaps his cheek with an unsteady hand, shakes his shoulders. "H-Hey, stay with me, you need to stay aw—"

Something blasts into him. Air, sound, not physical but painful. His ears ring, the world tilts on its axis as stars dance before his eyes. A numbing pain crawls through him.

Black overtakes his vision.

* * *

Something cold rests on his forehead.

Izuku tries to open his eyes, but the lethargy he feels in every cell of his body deems this a difficult task. He briefly sees a thin silhouette, he thinks, of wild hair and thin arms. The murmur of unintelligible voices bounce within the walls of his head. One voice stands out in sudden, stark contrast.

"Why did you do that?"

… _Do what?_ Izuku thinks of helplessness, of fear, of cowardice. Of excuses and quiet justifications to alleviate the guilt. Of inaction.

He thinks of eyes wide with fear, a quiet plea given tangible weight.

"... Couldn't just stand there," he manages.

 _No more excuses. When someone needs help, I can't just stand there doing nothing._

 _No excuse._

* * *

Izuku feels dull throbbings of pain from his core to the tips of his fingers. He slowly comes to, eyes peeling open and wincing at the light. Blue meets green as he tries to discern what he's looking at.

"Good morning!"

Thought stalls, stutters to a stop. His ears ring through the cotton and he's suddenly very, very awake.

 _That's All Might._

" _AAAAAAAAAA_ —!?" Izuku scrambles to his feet but his legs fail him, instead propelling him backwards in a frantic tumble. Excitement and disbelief and shock flood him as he comes to the full realization. "A-A-All—y-you're-! You're—!"

All Might strikes a pose. "You are correct! I am All Might!"

Izuku reels backwards. _It's All Might. It's_ All Might _. Why? What is All Might doing here? What happened? What was I doing, what—_

Memories slot into place like a puzzle. The boy.

" _Is he okay_?" Izuku backtracks, letting the edge in his voice smooth to a more reasonable tone. His thoughts race at impossible speeds. "I-I mean, the boy from before. The hostage, he—is he okay? And um, my mom, she was here, is she—I left her, is she okay? What happened? Did—"

"Calm down!" All Might claps a large hand on his shoulder. Firm, grounding. "They're both all right. Other than you and the other young one, no one was injured. Your mother has been waiting for you to regain consciousness."

Izuku finally notices the boundaries, the caution tape, keeping the area cordoned off. The paramedics hover, the police stand watch while taking note of the damage. The crowd is significantly thinner than before, and there's no more visible damage than there was when he first arrived.

 _Everything's fine._

Izuku breathes a sigh of relief, his heart slowing from its rapid beats. "Then… Then, were you the one that saved us?"

All Might gives him a thumbs up. "I was!"

Izuku stops the apologies and thank yous and who knows what other things before they spill from his mouth unchecked. An odd mix of guilt and worry grips him. He twists the fabric of his pants. His idol remains thankfully silent, apparently sensing his thoughtful mood. Or believing him traumatized.

Izuku swallows. "... I'm surprised that you aren't telling me that what I did was… stupid. Or reckless." A nervous laugh, "I mean, I didn't… I don't… Never mind, I'm just."

 _Just what?_ He thinks. Izuku finds that he doesn't know himself. He withholds the urge to bite his lip, instead twiddling his thumbs in his lap.

"... Well, that would be unfair for me to say." Izuku looks up, hesitant. All Might gives him his patented smile. "He was already carried away to the hospital to be looked after, but while he was still conscious, that boy asked me to thank you! He wanted you to know that he was grateful. That you did what you did."

Relief. Determination, something warm, slotting into place as though it always belonged—an impossible emotion.

Izuku stares down into his upturned palms. His thoughts swirl restlessly in his head, conflicting, brushing with the memories that are not his, not of this time.

(Cold helplessness, a fear of the unknown. A dreaded feeling of inevitability, impossibility as he stares up at what he may never reach.)

He clenches his hands into fists, a promise. Resolve.

Izuku looks up, meeting the eyes of the strongest person in the world.

"I'm going to be a hero."

* * *

The encounter sticks with him in the passing weeks, the signature in his notebook a physical reminder.

He meets a man with sallow cheeks and a gaunt form on his way home from school.

(Familiar. Very familiar.)

The man calls himself Yagi, and asks to speak with Izuku. He tells him that he was there those weeks ago, during the incident, and Izuku is instantly reassured.

(Familiar, beyond having simply known the man in passing from then. Why?)

Yagi doesn't speak much. He asks after Izuku's health, whether or not he and his mother have been faring well. He'd spoken to her that day, you know, trying to assure her that her son would be all right. His mother loves him very much.

Izuku flushes, awkward, bobbing his head in agreement.

The man asks why Izuku did something so dangerous.

… _Oh_ , Izuku thinks. Yagi doesn't watch him with scorn, no matter how severe his features look. Curiosity, genuine interest.

"Do you ever," Izuku begins, then his voice fails him at the dryness of his throat. He swallows and tries again. "... Do you ever look back on something you did, or something you didn't, and feel regret?"

Yagi doesn't reply.

"... Because I do. Nothing too big, of course, I'm _young_ —I mean, I haven't _lived_ that long so I haven't experienced as much as… Other people, that are older. Of course. But I think about it. Grow stronger from mistakes, all that. But learning from doing something wrong is different from… Not doing anything."

Inaction, excuses, compartmentalization. Repeat. The man he was in a previous life lived a miserable life full of regrets, of wishing he could do more. Caught between feeling like he wasn't enough and what he was doing wasn't enough. Tired.

Midoriya Izuku doesn't want that.

Yagi takes his words in stride. It's quiet for unending seconds after Izuku finishes speaking, tense, as Izuku doesn't know what he's thinking—

—which turns into him _really_ not knowing what he's thinking because his brain stalls again _that's All Might._

All Might waits out his miniature heart attack with surprising patience, trying to calm him down with the familiar demeanor of Yagi but the unmistakable appearance of the number one hero, All Might. He tells him that he has something to say. Something he's decided, something important, that he wants to tell Izuku.

All Might sits him down, and tells him the story of One for All.

(Familiarity. "One for All." A name created in defiance. Justice, power, hope, in the hands of many— _one for all_.)

"Well?" All Might asks, following his explanation.

He's already considered it all. He knows his dream, his goal, has already come to terms with it all. Knows the opportunity laid out before him. But:

"Do you think someone quirkless can become a hero?"

Wide eyes, followed by a simple a shrug. "I already suspected as much when you took down that villain without the use of one. Once I might've thought otherwise, that it was too dangerous. Too impossible. But I've since realized that it isn't the quirk that makes the hero, in the truest sense."

"I've thought this over countless times myself, and I have my answer." Blue eyes glint with orange in the fading light. "And you?"

Izuku nods. Resolute. "I have my answer, too."

* * *

It sticks with him like a stubborn burr. He trips, distracted, and gets a mouthful of dirt.

A recently surfaced memory plagues him, though it's more the sensation than the memory. It remains a hazy image of indistinguishable images, as though viewing a quiet movie through a thick fog. But the _echoes_.

Someone forced something, a quirk, he thinks, into him. Pain splitting his skull, his mind, the feeling sending shocks throughout his entire body. True fear, the first experience, the first time. The stirrings of betrayal. Sadness.

"... All Might? Can I ask you about One for All?"

All Might pauses from where he's brushing off dirt and deriding him for getting distracted. His demeanor immediately switches from harsh-instructor to his new usual, more subdued. "You're distracted by whatever it is. We can continue training tomorrow." He nods to himself. "What's wrong?"

"You mentioned, before, that One for All could be… forced. When passing it on, I mean. Isn't that bad?" Izuku speaks slowly, careful in his phrasing. "And how did you know it can be forced onto others?"

"... Good question. I don't know personally, but it's knowledge that was passed down through the generations of inheritors." A pause. All Might rubs his chin, eyes directed to the sky. "Of course it does seem rather inhumane, doesn't it? We can only hope that it may have been necessity, rather than cruel intention, that revealed this quality."

Izuku's fists tighten, his fingernails biting into the flesh of his palm. The fear and sympathy he feels are his. _But this anger, this urge to yell and kick and, and… Why?_ He wonders quietly, biting his lip. _What happened?_

"Midoriya." Izuku looks up. All Might holds his gaze firmly. "The past is the past, and we do not know what we do not know. Whatever happened, we will do what we can—make sure that _that_ ability of One for All is never made necessary."

Izuku nods.

"Besides!" Here, All Might's tone grows more jovial and he smiles. "Our ancestors, the previous wielders of this quirk… They were good people. Trust me, I can feel it in my soul!"

A startled laugh escapes, sounding like a snort, and Izuku claps his hands over his mouth. All Might just grins brighter at him.

 _It's impossible to know_ , Izuku thinks quietly to himself. _He's right that the past is the past. It's impossible to know for certain._ But he feels better anyway.

The anger dissipates into nothingness.

* * *

He remembers.

Izuku yelps at the stinging pain in his hand. He'd cut just a little too close in his wandering thoughts, memories, and sliced the side of his finger.

His… The brother of his memories had forced a quirk onto him, presumably to "fix" the fact that he had been quirkless. But then he, the man in the memories, realized he had a quirk all along. The two morphed, turned into something with capability, something that could save the world, could end the conflict, that…

… did nothing. Endless possibility, a brighter future. But not for him. It was a new quirk with great potential, but it had still left him unable to do anything in the past.

He couldn't go up against his brother. He could only pass on the weak torch to someone he deemed strong of values and capability. Place his hopes, his responsibility, on someone else. That was his contribution.

It was all he could do.

Izuku shakes his head, grimacing.

 _I will become a hero. It's not the same. We're not the same_. He rubs the bandage on his hand.

Midoriya Izuku is not the same person. A different life, a different family, circumstance, body, society.

It's all different. He isn't these memories, he isn't the person he remembers. He is no one but himself.

A different society. Dream.

A different life.

 _I am Midoriya Izuku._

(A chant, a prayer.)

* * *

The day of the entrance exam is a day of jittery, nauseating nerves that Izuku hasn't felt in a long while.

He greets Kacchan through chattering teeth. Kacchan gives him a glance that could be concern before telling him "Fuck off Deku."

They're real friends now, but he's still aggressively weird.

Izuku watches as the streams of hopefuls make their way into the building and admires the entrance. It's fancy. Big. Very U.A., in his opinion.

 _I'm going to be a hero_ , he thinks to himself, and it's entirely Midoriya Izuku when he takes his first step and trips.

He's saved by a girl with an anti-gravity quirk, and equally anti-gravity hair. She's bright, cheerful, and her demeanor soothes the nerves making him antsy. They chat on the way in, her name is Uraraka Ochako, and she loves mochi. He's Midoriya Izuku and he dreams a lot.

The written tests are easy enough. There are a few problems he isn't certain of, but he's solidly in the 90th percentile, a comfortable placement.

The practical exam is something else entirely.

Kacchan is calm throughout the explanation. A rigid teen asks a lot of questions. Izuku has only had a few chances to try using One for All, and all incidents had him waking up in the care of Recovery Girl.

(Meeting her had been really cool. He wonders if he'll get to talk to her more, if he's accepted to U.A.)

He stands in front of the overwhelming gates with his clammy hands pressed to his forehead. The chill stabilizes him, grounds him, settles his nervous jitters.

His chest feels warm and he wonders briefly if it's more nausea, or if he's getting sick, but it's comfortable. Like the soft glow of a match's ember.

The alarm sounds, and the practical begins.

* * *

Izuku is behind.

Sounds of battle, explosions, impacts surround him—one and two pointers are defeated before he can even start making his way towards them, can even think of viable strategy to bring them down.

" _TEN MINUTES!"_ Present Mic's voice reverberates throughout the simulated city.

Ten minutes.

Zero points.

Izuku chooses a direction and runs. He's at the heart of the chaos, which makes it more of a challenge to get to the points before the others do. If he can find a few stragglers, some late-released bots, then he will have a chance.

Someone shoots past him, faster, quicker. He's racing against the clock, and the competitors.

The ground shakes ominously.

He needs to get a point. At least one point, he has to do something, so all of his efforts don't go to waste, so he doesn't disappoint anyone anymore—

( _"What can I do? What can I do? There's nothing."_ )

Izuku stumbles at a wave of vertigo. His heart beats rapidly, blood pulsing loudly in his ears. Something's wrong. Images blur in and out of focus, he's at the test, but no, he's somewhere else, _where's U.A., where am I_ —

(Impossibility. Weakness. Insufficiency.)

It's a sensation comparable to something spilling forth, like the breaking of a dam, a feeling like standing on the edge, looking over into the unknown—

 _No!_ He doesn't want to remember. He clutches his head and squints his eyes shut. He doesn't need to, he died long ago, he _can't_ remember. He's Midoriya Izuku. In the present, not the past. He shouldn't be here. He doesn't want to impose these memories in this world, in his life, he—just—

A shout.

The desperate cry breaks through the flurry of motion and sound, pulling him out of his thoughts. The girl from earlier lies in the rubble a ways away, face pinched in pain. A monstrous robot looms over her in the background, a dangerous approach.

Izuku is moving before he consciously makes a decision. His mind whirs quickly, calculating distance, time, speed, mouth souring when he comes up short _but I have to try, I have to_ —

The machine continues its disastrous path. The girl notices its approach, her movements more frantic from its diminishing distance.

 _Damn it!_ Izuku runs forward, pushing everything he has into each step. It's not enough. The machine proceeds in its path forward. The girl is still stuck, she's struggling but it's _not enough_ , the machine will make it to her before Izuku can, he's putting all of his effort _but it's not enough it's never_ —

—He feels a push.

An echo.

Izuku flies forward with energy he didn't have, propelled forward by an impossible force. Warmth blazes into an inferno, fogged memories superimpose the landscape with each leap, each second that passes. Quicker than the buildings and falling rubble blurring at the edges of his vision—

(Determination and an inherited dream, an impossible destiny handed down generation to generation. Pain and damnation and struggling he never would have wished upon _anyone_ but not without happiness, victories, through the changing times.)

—He clenches his fist, grits his teeth, his arm is _burning burning burning_ —

(None gone to waste. Life, lives lived to the fullest, determination burning as the strongest of flames. From one to nine, the first and last, returning like a cycle.)

( _One for All_.)

—Izuku notes the sound of an impact.

The mechanical monstrosity takes the full brunt, the force of his uppercut folding the metal with ease. Shrapnel explodes outwards from the release of the vacuum, the machine splintering from a litany of internal explosions.

The rawness of Izuku's throat and the pangs of pain in his arm are muffled. A quiet buzzing punctuates the still silence.

He's immediately set by a powerful exhaustion replacing the previous adrenaline that had pumped through his veins. Breathing alone is a task. He collapses to his knees and falls forward face-first into the concrete, pulled down by his own weight.

Something powerful unfurls in his chest, near-painful in enormity and force. Impossibly warm but not like the warmth of before, the rush, the energy, but something else. Something from his memories. Echoing through him.

 _Thank you. I'm sorry. Thank you._ White noise buzzes louder around him. He curls into himself and pinches his eyes shut, about to burst as he quietly chants the words.

Memories not his own or of the previous, reflections in the steady burning of an inherited flame. One to nine, first to last.

 _You did well. All of you._

 _Thank you._


	2. Second's Foundation

Izuku dreams.

It's not like the usual dreams, or even _his_ usual dreams. He dreams distantly of a scale, metaphorical but seen. Of a quiet conversation. Measurement, balance.

 _"Strength is not so difficult to gain, however limited it will be at this stage. It is not the most important."_ Understanding. Acceptance. _"Control is key to develop properly."_

He is the one speaking, but not. It's his hand that gives, his that receives, but not.

He's both, but… _Not._

(Push and pull, equilibrium. Neither here, nor there.)

(As it always is.)

* * *

Toshinori gives an easy wave as he slides the door to the joint office closed. He twists the fabric of an oversized cuff between his thumb and index finger as he makes his way down the hall, contemplative.

Midoriya Izuku is different. It's something Toshinori had picked up on the first day he exchanged brief words with a reckless bystander.

Toshinori's clock is ticking, his time as All Might diminishing as his health continues to fail him. He'd already been at the end of his rope that day. Overspent and exhausted. When he'd come upon that scene—a boy, a teenager, _only a child_ —he had felt wretched, but decided there was nothing he could do. The other heroes would arrive eventually, he'd told himself; he could see the phones flashing and notifications being sent, and knew help would arrive eventually.

The surge of shame and anger that took hold of him as he watched yet another child dart towards the scene had been jarring. _What are you doing,_ he'd wanted to shout, to chastise, but the words were not solely for the boy.

He managed to knock out one of the villains. Too careful to have been luck, but still too reckless to be acceptable. Then the heroes came and both villains were captured.

"Do you know who the boy is?" Toshinori had asked an officer, off to the side near the perimeter. "The one that charged in," he clarified.

The man shot him a sideways glance before returning his gaze to his notepad. "No. But the lady over there probably does." Toshinori's gaze followed the direction of his pen, eyes fixing on a woman—hair the same shade, face the same shape.

(A mother desperately clinging to her son's hand as she sat on the ground. Two other officers and a paramedic hovered as they spoke to her and she wordlessly shook her head. Her forehead, pressed to the small fingers entwined in her own. Like a prayer.)

"An idiot, really." Toshinori turned back to the officer next to him as the man spoke. "Everyone knows that unlicensed civilians aren't supposed to get involved, and people _should_ be telling their kids about it. Just like looking both ways before crossing the street, or not following strangers. It just gets messy when people who aren't licensed and don't know better get involved."

Toshinori had hesitated, eyes drifting back to the still form lying on the ground several meters away.

(A tightness in his chest stifling his breath, and he knew it wasn't his usual affliction.)

"What that boy did was indeed reckless. But it made a difference." They were words that Toshinori couldn't quite bring himself to say in that moment, but he felt them all the same.

 _Coward,_ he'd called himself. _Coward, fool._

He knows very well that it's more than that, as this is a topic he's revisited many times over the course of his lengthy career. Being All Might isn't simply saving lives or defeating evil doers, it's being a symbol, protecting the peace of the times and the minds of those who live it. He lives on a precarious balance of trying to save the world and keeping his secret. His time dwindles as All Might disappears, and his struggles do little to slow that eventuality.

But that's precisely why he needed to pass on the torch.

And Midoriya Izuku, a boy with a spark of his own, had shown that he had what it takes to be the next. Many times, in fact, but for Toshinori it had boiled down to two instances.

 _"... Couldn't just stand there,"_ the boy had said, delirious and honest as the words left his mouth before succumbing to sleep.

 _"I'm going to be a hero,"_ he'd said when he came to, uncalled for but somehow knowing, challenging, with a spark in his eyes that spoke volumes.

Toshinori had decided then, in all honesty. But Midoriya Izuku was _young,_ and One for All was all too heavy a responsibility for any random child. He'd needed to be sure.

Midoriya's answer the third time, when he'd gone as Toshinori, was no less notable than the last. And Toshinori had his resolve.

(Nighteye had been predictably furious. But Gran Torino, his teacher, had simply held a static silence over the phone before voicing a single, quiet, "Ok."

They've known each other for years, but Toshinori still doesn't quite know what to make of the man at times.)

The following months had shown sides to the boy that hadn't been revealed previously. Midoriya could be loud and excitable at times, but in a sense that he had too much nervous energy to contain. At others, he would go dead silent, his eyes fixed at a distance without truly seeing. He'd mumble seemingly nonsensical syllables under his breath while training, but if Toshinori paid attention, he could make out bits of trivia that had nothing to do with anything they'd discussed and knowledge that he wonders at being normal for kids this age or simply being yet another facet to paint the picture of Midoriya Izuku.

He has an ability to simply _know_ things at times, and whether it is because he'd heard it before, or because of his power of deduction, it never failed to surprise Toshinori during that interim.

He finds it eerie, at times. "You're a creepy kid," he'd said once, immediately regretting the accidental slip of his musings, but Midoriya had just laughed.

But Toshinori doesn't think the boy is creepy, as he had carelessly said that day. He has his habits, his own thoughts, that distinguish him as an individual. Just like any other boy his age, any other person.

No matter the oddities and personality quirks, Midoriya Izuku is who he is.

And that's the person Toshinori chose as his successor.

* * *

Izuku wakes up to a white ceiling.

He realizes he's in the infirmary, remembers the test, and the faint sound of paper tells him that Recovery Girl is probably at her desk. He can't move, and when his mind catches up to the present he nearly screams.

All Might inherited One for All. One for All was the quirk he had passed on, placing his hope on future generations. Now it was with him again.

But that isn't what's important. All Might had One for All. _All Might._ The strongest, the number one hero, had the quirk _he_ passed on.

 _ALL MIGHT._

The bed makes odd creaking sounds as metal scrapes against the floor. Izuku practically vibrates on the bed in restless energy, his teeth rattling.

 _That's…! That's so COOL—_

Pain lances through his arm. Izuku clutches his shoulder with his uninjured hand as stars swim in his vision and he briefly wonders why the railings of the infirmary bed are made of bare metal, of all things, but—but—

 _ALL MIGHT HAD ONE FOR ALL!_

"Well you're certainly energetic, aren't you?"

Izuku's head snaps up from where he's curled up on the bed, and he laughs, energy bleeding through each breath. "Oh! Hi Recovery Girl, sorry about the," he pauses, not really sure what he's apologizing about. His cheeks hurt from the near painful smile he can't force down. "The noise."

The healing hero waves a hand through the air. "No worries. How are you feeling?"

Izuku takes a moment to calm down and actually consider his answer so it isn't just a jumble of energy. He rolls his shoulders, stretches his legs and twists his torso to the sides. Other than the ache of his arm and the dizzying beat of his own heart, "I'm feeling okay."

"Good." Recovery Girl hops off of her swivel chair and walks over, her cane tapping a strangely soothing rhythm into the floor. "I'll heal your arm up the rest of the way, then."

Izuku never fails to marvel at her ability, and he watches in amazement as the mottled bruising along the edges of his bandages fades to nothing. He has his hand out and waiting before she pulls the familiar gummies out of her pocket.

Recovery Girl nods as he pops them into his mouth. "Be sure to hydrate yourself and eat a healthy meal when you get back home. Get plenty of rest, don't think you're invincible just because you're healed again, the usual."

Izuku is bobbing his head up and down in lethargic nods before she slaps a gloveless hand to his forehead. He blinks when she frowns, her hand moving after several quiet beats.

"... You still have a slight fever."

Izuku's frown mirrors her own as his fingers lightly brush his forehead. "A fever?"

She pulls her glove back onto her hand, the rubber snapping into place. "I don't think it's anything to be worried about. Cold-like symptoms are an occasional side effect when the damage healed is extensive." The last part is added with a stern look that has Izuku laughing weakly. She turns away and heads back to her desk. "It's a little odd that you're experiencing this _now_ after I've healed you plenty of times already, but it should go away with some rest as well."

He thanks her for her help, and she gives him an amicable smile before kicking him out of her office. "You're not the only reckless teen that got hurt in this exam," she says, still smiling softly but with something hard underscoring her tone.

Izuku flees.

* * *

They'd been told that the letters would be arriving a week or two after the entrance exam.

It's now been a week, and Izuku is nervous.

Worse, All Might hasn't been answering calls or messages, and he's left to his thoughts. What if he doesn't get accepted? He'd been so excited over his revelation regarding One for All that he forgot to consider that he scored a big, fat, zero on the practical. What if that's a deal-breaker? What if All Might decides that he's a waste of the quirk, and asks him to give it back? What if—

Izuku falls face down onto his bed, the air forced out of his lungs. He's nervous, and his mind reels with all the not-so-positive possibilities, but this… None of this is what's important.

He's certain All Might wouldn't really ask him to return One for All. He'd felt the hero's resolve in his decision when he'd chosen Izuku—never mind the fact that it's still hard to comprehend—and Izuku wouldn't insult the man by thinking he'd retract his words with a single uncertainty.

Izuku had gone into the U.A. entrance exam prepared to do his best, but also with insurance in place. He had looked into other hero schools as well. Kengen high's exam had been before U.A.'s, Shiketsu's hero course has some interesting prospects, and Monoyuu's only had a written portion that Izuku is sure he did fine on. The others, he'll think about another time.

The point is that he doesn't _need_ to get into the best hero school, and he still likely has the trust of the number one hero he's idolized for most of his life. It's fine. As long as he gains the certification for hero work, it's _fine_.

Izuku deeply considers a piece of lint that sits inches from his face. It sways with each small breath he takes.

 _… Yeah, no. I'm still really nervous._

With a sigh, he rolls onto his back and splays his hands above him, silhouetted against the ceiling light. His thoughts drift to the past months.

All Might has explained it to him, answered every question as best he could, and his memories give an added comprehension to understanding One for All. But thinking back to the exam to try and dissect exactly what occurred only leaves him with unanswered questions.

Up until then he'd only managed small victories in learning to use One for All. He'd displayed very little control if any at all, hence his acquaintance with Recovery Girl. The most he'd been able to achieve was an infinitesimal fraction of the full power—crushing a can with his pinky, creating small spiderwebbing cracks through the pavement when he stumbled, or denting All Might's car with his forehead when he focused so hard that he missed that wayward brick and tripped. It had seemed that anything beyond small applications were not possible for him, not without landing him back in Recovery Girl's exasperated care.

But the exam.

His arm had been blown out with the unrestrained force of One for All, without a doubt. But prior to that he'd also used its full power in his legs, and… nothing had happened.

Or, no. That's not exactly right either.

He'd felt the usual surge of electrifying energy from the rush in his ears through the tips of his toes. But it'd been without that tentative, unfamiliar feeling he associates with the quirk itself.

Izuku closes his eyes and tries to recall that moment of instinctual familiarity.

It'd been like homecoming. A breath of fresh air, breaching the surface of water. An automatic, trained response. A warm hum dancing on the surface of his fingertips like sun-heated sand trailing over his skin.

It had been a force, sensation, propelling him forward as though he knew the quirk from the very core of his soul. A connection belying the short amount of time he's truly used the quirk, a perfect harmony—not just as the one who had held the first iteration, but as though—

(As though he'd been the one carrying One for All throughout all these years.)

Izuku jolts up from his bed and darts out of his room, stopping only to grab a jacket and his running sneakers. He absently notes the the numbers on the clock and the apparent hours that have passed.

 _How dumb,_ he thinks, laughing through the tight sensation in his chest, the chill of the evening air on feverish skin as he forces each breath out in a mimicry of ease. His skin crawls with a hot clamminess that seems to seep into his muscles. It's been years but it's still familiar, something he's learned to adjust to with time and practice and acceptance.

 _Nothing new._

He recognizes the concern turned acknowledgement in his mother's eyes as he passes, and he finds comfort in it. Her inobtrusive understanding. A part of him considers talking to her about it—he _wants_ to talk to someone, he realizes, even though the other part definitely doesn't want to talk at all—but he shakes his head. All Might and his mom, both with pieces of knowledge but not the full picture that he'd rather not have.

He doesn't want to think about it.

"Stay safe," she calls out to him as he makes his way down the balcony hall of the complex, and he rounds the corner assured that she knows this routine.

It's _a_ routine. There's something to be said about the pattern of school that gives a sense of monotonous grounding, keeping him occupied with little chance of slipping into that area of uncertainty. A controlled, structured environment.

 _A controlled routine,_ Izuku thinks as he jogs, pace steady. The world comes into sharper focus with every step. _One foot after the other._

(Equilibrium. Balance.)

It'll be a long, nervous wait, so he may as well make something of it.

* * *

Izuku stares out the train's windows relieved and thoughtful.

He'd been accepted. The workings of the exam had been more than collecting points via robot-destruction—and in hindsight, it makes enough sense that Izuku thinks he should've known there was a hidden point system with a focus on the rescue aspect of heroism, separate from calculated destruction.

(Something tells him that Kacchan scored highest in the latter.)

Stepping onto U.A.'s campus for the second time for his first day is exciting, without the fear and apprehension he'd felt before. It's a new school, a new direction to his life, and he finds himself looking forward to everything the day represents.

Then he trips on a dead body.

He distantly recognizes the sound of Uraraka's and the stern boy's shouts, eyes glued to the prone form, and then the dead body _moves._

 _Oh,_ he thinks, a little relieved but also a little faint. _Not a dead body._

Stubble that looks like the man hasn't shaved in days, bloodshot eyes, and hair almost as wild as Izuku's own, is what he makes of the not-dead body as it— _he_ —moves to his feet. Izuku isn't sure what to make of the eye-searingly yellow sleeping bag.

Half-lidded eyes survey the classroom in a slow sweep. The man introduces himself as their homeroom teacher—"Aizawa Shouta," said with the least amount of inflection that Izuku's ever heard in this lifetime—before climbing out of his sleeping bag to leave them with gym clothes he pulled out of said bag and instructions to head to the field.

Izuku isn't sure what to make of their homeroom teacher at all.

His feet still carry him to and through the door as his classmates start funneling out of the classroom to look for the lockers, following Aizawa's steps.

The man turns to him with an expectant look, and Izuku's mouth opens to speak, but nothing comes out. A question sits on the tip of his tongue but he can't find the words to it, only a jumble of half-formed feeling and hazy thoughts that refuse to translate.

After a few beats of silence, Izuku shakes his head. He bows a quick apology for holding Aizawa up for nothing and darts back in the other direction to join his classmates.

Aizawa finally tells them what's going on once they've all gathered outside. A quirk apprehension test, he calls it, a way to measure everyone's quirks and usage through exercises they're all familiar with but were prohibited from performing with their abilities. Kacchan's demonstration is as explosive as could be expected, and the others grow excited.

Izuku's stomach only drops from where it had been steadily sinking. _A test._

He hasn't made it yet. Of course he hasn't. U.A. is the very best of the best, and this is the _heroics department,_ so of course it wouldn't be that easy to secure his stay here.

Izuku takes a gulp, flexing his fingers out of tight fists. Maybe it won't be so bad. He's done gym tests before, and even if he isn't able to use One for All, he's here to learn now. The entrance exam had been stressful and terrifying and all-too uncertain but surely this wouldn't be so pressured—

The words fall out of his mouth before he can further convince himself.

"Are we actually U.A. students, or is this something else to determine that?"

Aizawa slants a look in his direction, unreadable, before turning back to the rest of the now-silent class. "... Yes," he says eventually. "Very perceptive."

Izuku can't tell by the naturally dry tone of voice whether he's being serious or sarcastic.

"The hero course isn't all fun and games, and this test is no different. If any of you don't score exceptionally well in at least one activity, you will be expelled."

Protests and disbelief rise immediately, and Aizawa suddenly goes from their questionable homeroom teacher to a pro hero in an instant. "As hero potentials, you will need to adapt to any given situation. Hero work demands more than just your best—if you aren't up to the challenge, I suggest you start looking into other options for careers."

 _Dangerous,_ Izuku's mind tells him, _formidable._ Aizawa Shouta is the Erasure Hero "Eraserhead," he realizes, and it's in those suddenly-sharp eyes and that heavy presence that he knows for certain. Eraserhead is a top hero in his own right, staying away from the mainstream media to focus more on the active aspect of heroics rather than morale, and he does his job exceptionally well. He's a man of steel tempered by the harsh realities of the society they live in.

But Midoriya Izuku remembers being quirkless, of being powerless in all the ways that mattered, of logical reasoning that beat down on his own fires of hope and justice no matter how well-meaning or right, of being a child with dreams facing these ills both in his mind and out—

—And Midoriya Izuku decides he doesn't like this man much.

From there, there's only the focused goal of scoring well. Aizawa explains how the test will go with his tone even, and they all pay rapt attention.

The 50-meter dash, grip strength, standing long jump, side-stepping—it's all a hazy blur as he goes through the motions, something he distantly recognizes as something to be worried about but all his attention is on the fact that his scoring is far from _exceptional._

His heart palpitates in his chest hard enough that he hears it in his ears despite knowing that he isn't at his physical limit, spots dance across his vision blurring at the edges. The score counter Aizawa holds in his hand grips what little focus he has left, and the glowing numbers that flash across its screen taunt him.

He can't tell if he's using One for All. He thought he was, he thought he'd mastered using at least a fraction of it without blasting his limbs, but he isn't, his scores are barely scraping the line of above-average and _that's_ not enough to solidify his presence in U.A. It's not enough to give him the reasoning, the weight to his words, _I belong here._

 _I can't give up here._

He's hyperventilating—he feels like something is about to snap but he doesn't know what—as he walks up to the circle, determination writ on his features with a dull, rushing roar in his ears. His eyes focus on a point in the horizon.

He feels sick.

His fingertips smooth over the roughened surface of the ball before gripping into it, muscles tense. _More,_ he thinks, grasping at mere wisps of One for All's potential.

Something snags. A feeling both exhilarating and terrifying floods him, dancing over the surface of his skin and seeping into his very bones. _More,_ he thinks again, desperate, his arm winding up to pitch, _I need more power, I can't fail here when I'm so close,_ his heel digs into the dirt and he leans forward into the motion, _I'm too weak without it, I can't stop here, even if I break my arm again I need_ more power—

("Control is key.")

—the ball falls to the ground with a pitiful bounce.

He feels _sick._ It only takes him a moment of stuttered breaths and confusion before clarity fills his mind.

Revulsion. Self disgust.

 _Disappointment._

The near-blind search for power, no matter the reason, isn't a path he wants to take. Isn't a path he will ever condone. Especially because he _has_ that power, now, but to think for even a moment—even if it was temporary, even if it wasn't for something that had nothing more than enrollment to a _school_ on the line—for him to believe with every ounce of his life, that power could solve _everything else—_

Izuku clenches his fist, his eyes already pinched closed. He thinks of the vague silhouette of a brother not his own, from a time long passed.

He takes a breath, comfort in the fact that he knows most of his reaction was internalized. He turns to his classmates with a sheepish smile that is mostly true.

(The torch is passed, and a deal is set. Two with a unified goal stand as one as they look towards the future.)

("There's more to being a hero than just raw power.")

* * *

At the end of it all, Shouta lets them know that they passed.

"It was a logical ruse," he says with marginally more cheer to his tone than usual. The kids react in varying, colorful ways that let him know exactly who the troublemakers will be.

He dismisses the class, and it's Tenya and Yaoyorozu that bid him goodbye as the others quickly fall into conversation.

The day had ended with significantly less injuries than he thought it would—considering the added dangers of quirk use—in that there were none. This was unexpected to him, especially when he knows very well just how the entrance exam had turned out for a handful of students, and yet, none of the office slips he had prepared needed to be used.

He needs to go deliver them back to Recovery Girl and put together the rest of the semester's curriculum, now that he's made the decision to keep this class.

But he doesn't turn to leave just, yet, because…

"Um, Aizawa-sensei?"

Midoriya jogs up to him, the same glint in his eyes from earlier that told Shouta he had something to say. He wonders what's on his mind this time. He tilts his head forward when Midoriya hesitates, either waiting for acknowledgement or considering his words.

"This... might seem weird to ask, but there's a lot I don't know about U.A. because of how careful the faculty is with information and the media, and even though I'm a student now I didn't have a lot of time to research it and—what I _mean_ to say," he cuts himself off, visibly pulling away from his rambling. "Am I a student now?"

Shouta slowly blinks as he parses all the words just thrown at him. He begins to nod, an affirmative on his tongue, when Midoriya barrels on.

"I wanted to know for certain because I actually—before today I also applied to other schools, just in case I didn't, you know. In case I wasn't accepted." A breath, "But if I'm definitely a student here then I can stop looking for other possibilities and I need to get back to the other schools soon."

 _… Huh._ Shouta looks at Midoriya a little more keenly than before. "How many schools? Were they heroics-targeted?"

"... Nine," Midoriya answers, even through the confusion writ plainly on his face at the question. "And… yes?"

He easily lists the names and Shouta narrows his eyes. That's more than the usual amount a middle schooler would consider total, whether specialty or general education. And Midoriya had _only_ applied for hero schools.

"I know it's a lot, and it's not really considered a good thing to apply for so many." He seems to pick up on Shouta's thoughts, however slight. "It's just—my goal is to become a hero. Someone that makes a difference."

"U.A. is known for its popularity and publicity for up-and-coming heroes." The words are echoed from others, because Shouta knows what the majority of U.A.'s applicants are after.

Midoriya shakes his head. "I don't care about that. And you—you're _Eraserhead,_ so you know that that isn't completely necessary. As long as I can save people in the end, the school doesn't matter."

He visibly backtracks, eyes going wide. "Ah, I mean, the education at U.A. is a lot better and would definitely help me to become a better hero! I'm not saying that U.A. _isn't_ exceptional and that it doesn't expect a lot from its students, I don't mean to imply that it isn't good enough, I'm just—in the grand scheme, going here isn't as—well it's not completely necessary for my, uh… That is…"

His words trail off, eyes darting to Shouta's. Shouta only lifts an eyebrow. Midoriya drops his hands and slumps. "... Never mind."

Shouta shakes his head when he looks back up. "It doesn't matter. Just focus on preparing for what we'll be throwing at you, because even though you've made it through the doors, it's not going to be easy."

Midoriya instantly brightens at the answer. "Right!"

The others call out to him, drawing his attention to the crowd. He sketches a quick bow before darting away all-too-eagerly, joining the loud chatter that fills this side of the field.

Shouta watches their antics with a sigh.

He'd already done quick mental evaluations of most of the others for the sake of figuring the best way to prepare for the coming year, and saved one of the most potentially troubling ones for last.

Midoriya Izuku. Just a hair shy from being as loud in presence as the other applicant from that school, if not literally.

Shouta doesn't know the full story of what's going on there. A quirk that has such little control it's as if the kid had never used it before in his life, and a personality at odds with the destructive force of his ability. He's a strange kid—not by a wide margin considering the personality quirks of the others, but enough of one to be noteworthy.

Shouta had kept a keen eye on Midoriya during the ball throw. He'd been prepared to watch the kid throw all caution to the wind in an attempt to give a boost to his score, and erasing his quirk at the last moment would have been a good wake-up call on exactly why that sort of mindset isn't acceptable in a hero.

But, whether it's because he could tell something had cut off access to his quirk, or he had a change of heart… He didn't follow through with that throw.

Shouta had his suspicions about him using his ability a bit more wisely, more controlled than in the exam. Erasing the kid's quirk would've given him the chance to really gauge for himself if there was a difference in his performance, along with stopping him from doing something stupid. Him not following through with the throw was unexpected.

 _Though,_ Shouta thinks after a beat, _maybe not so much._

Midoriya Izuku's decision to punch upwards through the Gimmick's underside had limited damage to the city, as the robot caved in on itself and collapsed where it stood. However, he had been right under it with no way out—and Uraraka had gone and saved him, darting in with a floating scrap piece and managing to keep them both from being flattened by the metal monstrosity. In that, she had earned herself 50 rescue points for her quick thinking while injured and looking after an unconscious charge, and Midoriya had earned himself 70, for blowing through the piece of concrete that had her pinned, eliminating a threat that wouldn't benefit him in the exam, and keeping from adding to the overall damage at the scene.

Shouta had pointedly kept to his vote of "2" despite the others' confidence in the teen's foresight because of the disregard for his own wellbeing, and Shouta's skepticism that the boy had really put so much thought into his actions added weight to his decision.

After today, it's clear that Midoriya Izuku does have a sharp mind. And he _uses_ it, which is more than what could be said about a good chunk of the heroes these days. But no matter how good the intention, or how lucky the result, what good is a hero that nearly kills himself the first time he saves someone?

Shouta observes the boy with a slanted gaze, his eyes watching the crowd of excitable teens—and he sighs.

Ultimately, decent potential, a good quirk and a mindset that isn't too bad. It's just a matter of what he does—or doesn't do—with what he has. The same goes for all of Shouta's students, and it's just as well.

He has a long road ahead of him in the coming year, he knows, already feeling the slow crawl of exhaustion through his body. But it's not a bad batch of kids this year.

Not bad at all.

* * *

Izuku sighs through the happy, jittery nerves he feels, his grin stretching his face so wide it's near painful.

"Okay but, that was nerve-wracking!" The pink-haired girl—Ashido—says, stretching her arms above her head. "I was worried that I was gonna get kicked out on the first day. U.A. really doesn't hold back at all, huh?"

The boy with a black streak through his hair, Kaminari, nods. "Yeah. But if we're gonna show 'em that we're the best, then we'll just have to take everything they throw at us, and throw it right back!"

"It's a mad banquet of darkness." Izuku nods a little uncertainly at Tokoyami's quiet comment, but laughs when he gets a nod in return.

Iida cuts in, literally, arms gesticulating sharply. "It's only expected that U.A.'s curriculum would push its students! It is the top heroics school with a record of graduating the best of the best, and therefore we must not grow lax in our training—"

Uraraka laughs. "Iida-kun, you're funny."

"I thought it was fun, actually," Kirishima pipes in. "It'll be challenging, yeah, but we're gonna be pros! Even though sensei seems a little scary, I think he just wants to prepare us for the future."

Izuku continues grinning as the others maintain conversation. He'd worry about how strange he probably looks, silently grinning through the whole thing, but he's too comfortable to really care.

He _likes_ this class. When he'd been pulled into conversation with them, he'd been excited but hesitant, too used to being an outlier amongst his peers—Kacchan being a somewhat unwilling acquaintance was a factor, but it was mostly his own acknowledged oddities that came along with his memories and condition—and he'd been ready to fade into the background again, not necessarily being excluded but not being part of the group. Like an outsider looking in, separated by a thin but ever-present wall that could not be passed.

But his worries had been in vain. Uraraka and—surprisingly—Iida had been quick to pull him into the group, with the others eagerly accepting him into the fold as well. "You're Midoriya, right?" "What's your quirk?" "Were you the one that destroyed the Gimmick at the other site?" "What do you think of Aizawa-sensei?" "God, wasn't today's test scary!?"

Izuku remembers a life that wasn't quite living. In these memories, he'd had friends, he'd had people he cared for, but his life had been dedicated towards a task—unrecognized, over-looked—to counter the evil he knew existed by his side, shadowing the brother he once knew. Things like personal relationships had fallen to the wayside when he'd realized the enormity of that brother's influence and power, because he knew that nothing short of his _everything_ would even begin to chip away at the roots his brother had implanted in the world.

 _Lonely,_ was the word Izuku had once placed to those memories, of the man who had lived that life. _Driven, but terribly lonely._ Only through One for All had that man found a lasting connection to others.

He's not that man, though. And as Iida turns to him in the hopes of having backup for an argument he isn't following, as Uraraka laughs loudly and happily, as Ashido and Sero and Kaminari share middle school stories, as they all shout and laugh and cheer—he thinks that he will never have to be.

Split conversations continue all the way into the classroom, laughter and smiles as everyone bids farewell, "see you guys tomorrow," and something not unlike contentment unfurls through the tight ball of fear and anxiety and foreboding that usually rests at the forefront of Izuku's mind—

—and he thinks to himself, confident:

 _It'll all be okay._


	3. Third and Fourth

(A constant flow from one to another— _"_ _I entrust"_ —)

 _Dirt and dust in stinging cuts, arms burning with adrenaline, exhaustion, but eyes wide with vigor, the high rise of warring fear and excitement and a sharp smile pulling chapped lips taut—_

 _Practiced movements and direction like the flowing of a river, smooth as a well-rehearsed routine as legs sweep outward and over, eyes sharp and footing light to weave between blows and strike—_

 _One laughs and shouts and yells and snarls as a cornered animal refusing to go down even as the flickering embers die out—_

 _One pushes the limit with the calm of the eye of a storm and feels the ebb of power passed on as a receding wave—_

He wakes up with sleep-crusted eyes and hazy impressions from a far-off dream. Words echo distantly in his mind as he readies himself for the day, unconscious and on the cusp of memory.

( _"I pass on this power to you."_ )

* * *

The first few days at UA are peaceful. The general education courses feel no different from what he took in middle school aside from them being at a higher level, and other than the occasional cracked pencil from distracted fidgeting or the slightly odd, colorful characters in the school's faculty, it's been surprisingly normal. Easy enough to adjust to.

Izuku zooms around the apartment looking for his misplaced phone. Eyes trail over the table, the kitchen counter, he checks under the couch, his jacket pockets, the fridge—he _just_ had it a few minutes ago in-between texting All Might and checking the hero app, and somehow he misplaced it when all he did was go to the bathroom—

He cuts a corner too close and stubs his toe on the leg of the living room table.

"Ow _sh_ —oot," he says, stuttering on the word unnaturally. He turns to glance at his mother.

She notices his look from where she's sitting the couch and shoots a smile his way. He smiles back, albeit weakly.

... He tries not to swear in front of her.

Izuku finds his phone in the back pocket of the pants he's wearing—his mom just laughs at him when he tells her, saying that it happens to her too—and he waves a quick goodbye before shoving his shoes on and tripping out the door.

All Might is already at Dagobah beach when he gets there, and greets him with a pat on the head. "So what's on your mind?"

"Sorry for calling you out here like this," Izuku says first. It's not late, not unforgivably so, but the sun is already set. "I've been wondering about a few things but I hadn't seen you around school, so…"

All Might rubs the back of his neck as he tilts his head. Izuku winces at the crack that he almost feels himself. "Yeah, I had to attend to a few things and haven't been on campus all that much, so my teaching plans have been pushed back. An... acquaintance of mine, hasn't been feeling too well, so I've been making trips to make sure he's all right." He murmurs the next statement with a shiver, "Even if my worry hasn't been exactly welcome."

Izuku blinks, curiosity piqued, but it doesn't slip his notice that All Might is skirting around the specifics. And while the man can be discreet if needed, he isn't exactly… covert. Most of the time.

He'd rather not pry if it's unwelcome. "I hope he's okay now," he settles for.

All Might gives him a smile he thinks is grateful. Or just in lieu of not having anything else to say. He sits on the wall's edge and pats the space next to him, and Izuku hops onto the wall as well.

"Right. So." Izuku clears his throat. "I wanted to ask some more about One for All. About, well, the people who had it before you."

He'd wondered about it ever since the entrance exam, of course. It was hard to ignore those flashes of scenes and emotions he'd felt, but it'd been difficult to bring up for reasons he still can't give definition to.

"Ah." All Might turns to look towards the ocean, gaze to the scattered stars. "Well. I can tell you about my master, but not about the rest."

Izuku stifles the slight lurching he feels, his voice coming out only slightly louder than intended. "What? Why?"

"I… Don't know about the rest," the hero says. "My master mentioned her own in passing a couple times, but never anything concrete. I'm afraid even their names have been lost to time."

There's a heaviness to All Might's shoulders as he says this, and Izuku thinks about One for All. Of the five other users that have been buried and forgotten just as his memories have been, of their lives and sacrifices that were never acknowledged.

He shakes his head and asks about All Might's mentor, and his heart feels a little lighter when the man's answering smile rivals his hero-smile.

Shimura Nana was an amazing woman, All Might tells him. Power in strength and charisma that more than matched her ideals. She believed strongly in saving the hearts of people, made it her goal to protect their smiles and happiness along with everything else.

"I was just a kid at the time, but she believed in me and my dream. She looked at me, quirkless in a time where it was almost as rare as now, and decided, 'You're going to be a hero.'"

Izuku's eyes go wide at the information. All Might just smiles, the expression edging a smirk as he pats his shoulder.

"Right. Just like you. But also different. Just as my master had believed in me, I believe in you. It's too early to say exactly what direction you'll go in, but I have confidence that you'll achieve whatever it is that you set out to accomplish." He suddenly coughs, the sound more wet than it ought to be, facing away as the fit continues. He waves a hand at Izuku's concern and wipes the side of his mouth as he turns back to the ocean. "Maybe… Maybe you'll accomplish something that I couldn't."

"Something you couldn't?" Izuku eyes the smudge of red warily. "What do you mean?"

All Might only shrugs. "I don't know. I just have a feeling that you're going to do something that's going to shock me."

It's such a blasé statement at odds with the tone of the conversation. Izuku laughs, caught off guard—All Might chuckles too, but he knows the man's words weren't any less honest.

It's almost weird and a little daunting, but mostly reassuring, for someone to have such unwavering belief in him.

All Might tells him more about Shimura Nana. About how she trained him, how much he looked up to her, about the time he and her friend played a prank on her and she returned it tenfold with a beguiling smile—and through the ease, the contentment at filling in the gaps of another person that helped build not only the quirk he now holds but raise the hero he most looks up to…

He can't help but feel a twist in his gut at the knowledge that he's never heard of Shimura Nana. And a part of him wonders, the part that can't stop thinking even into the quiet hours of the night, _Was it deliberate?_

Once is happenstance and twice is coincidence. But for everyone up to All Might to have remained in shadows, never given the light of day, he can't help but wonder if it was on purpose.

Did they think they had to live out their lives in obscurity, quietly protecting the world? Is that what his legacy had turned into? Honing One for All in silence, never to be recognized…

 _Why?_ Izuku asks himself. _Was it the weight of the responsibility?_ He doesn't remember telling the one he'd passed it to to keep it a secret, or even alluding to it being necessary. Sure he has a lot of gaps in these memories, but that seems like something important enough to remember.

He doesn't want to think it's because they all died before they could do anything. He doesn't want to think that something of _his_ creation might have played into them all falling before being able to live out their lives. Shimura Nana lived to adulthood, at least, so it can't be too much of a stretch to hope that a few others did, too. And yet…

He considers another piece of the puzzle, and an answer slots into place.

 _My brother_ , he realizes. He flinches as if burned and backtracks, physically shaking his head. _The—the brother of my memories._

And then he frowns, feeling naive. Of _course_ it's All for One. Facing a threat like him, they didn't have much choice. To protect the public, he couldn't be made a public entity—a man who was chaos, evil personified—or people wouldn't be able to live safely, happily. Not with a looming threat of that magnitude.

All for One's influence was a lot like a mirror of All Might's own. And listening to a portion of the man's history, knowing what he knows now, helps reconcile…

 _Wait._

A thought occurs to Izuku like a shock of electricity. _What_ did _happen to All for One?_

Izuku has never heard of him in his life aside from myths no one took seriously, not in a single history book or reference page. He can only assume that somewhere along the line, his legacy had snuffed out the man's influence. _History is written by the winners, the survivors._ All Might's own influence must have been a final push to erase his existence from society.

 _So it was… A success?_ Izuku considers this with a strange lack of feeling. Detachment, he thinks. And even despite not remembering clear dates, he knows it's been well over a century—All for One would've been dead by the time Shimura Nana inherited One for All. So perhaps her reasons for secrecy were personal, explaining why he'd still never heard of her even in passing. Even without All for One spearheading those who felt wronged by society, the clashing of ideals can be dangerous. Maybe the same applied to the previous holders, too.

But without a doubt, it was a heavy responsibility that the man in his memories left on the shoulders of others.

(Izuku tries not to think too deeply on how this makes him feel.)

He jolts when he feels a brush against his arm. All Might gently tugs his hands apart with a quiet look, and Izuku sees the red-smeared hangnails before he feels the pain, the slight tremble to his hands.

 _Ah_ , he thinks distantly, _I did that._

The ugly marks he subconsciously made on his own skin stand out in a faded array of blotchy color in the dim lighting, and he contemplates.

He wonders how much of his thoughts are his memories, and how much is _him_. Midoriya Izuku. It'd be so much easier had it all ended after that man's death, had these memories never existed beyond a man that lived and died. It's annoying, a part of him thinks, while the other is already used to living like this.

He's used to it, at least in part, which is why he's confident that what he's feeling now—the sadness—is his.

He, Midoriya Izuku, thinks it's _sad_ that the previous holders were buried by time without a flicker of acknowledgement for the lives they lived. That whatever marks they made in history were never recorded, smoothed over with time, not even remembered by those that inherited the legacy they helped to build.

 _I think it's sad. Isn't it?_

(No answer surfaces in his mind. They are memories of a previous life, echoes of a life once lived.)

There's only a quiet sadness that's his own.

* * *

"Uraraka?"

Ochako pauses where she's packing up her bag, brightening when she sees who addressed her. "Midoriya, hi!" She packs up her last textbook before slinging her bag over her shoulders, beaming at her classmate and friend. "What's up? Wanna walk with me to the gate?"

He smiles brightly in response, and Ochako feels a small victory at that.

Midoriya Izuku doesn't smile much, she's noticed. At least not in any way she's used to. Whenever he smiles, it seems closer to a grimace, a hair's breadth away from a nervous baring of teeth, as though trying to stretch an ill-fitting expression onto a face that rarely uses it. She thinks it's a shame, that, because there are moments like this one—this is only the second, really—that she thinks she sees a real smile from him.

"I actually have to check in with Present Mic, but I can walk with you out the building?"

They make their way out of the classroom and wave goodbye to their classmates that have yet to leave. Midoriya slides the door closed and joins her at an easy pace.

He looks deep in thought. He kinda seems to get lost in his thoughts often, Ochako has noticed. If Iida is the type to hyperfocus on outside problems and loudly make them known until they are fixed, by his own hand most often, then Midoriya is the type to fall to his thoughts and get stuck until someone physically pulls him into a conversation.

So.

"Midoriya? What did you need to talk about?"

The hand pulling at his lip pauses, and awareness seems to come back to his eyes. "Ah. Sorry, right." After a pause, his hand goes up to pull at his fringe instead. "I actually wanted to thank you."

Ochako tilts her head to the side. "Thank me? For what?"

"The entrance exam. I heard that you went to Present Mic to try and get me some points for saving you, and were even more adamant when you found out I had none." He winces, looking sheepish. "I had meant to thank you sooner—like, on the first day of school—but I… forgot. Sorry. And again, thanks."

Ochako laughs, touched that he'd think of that. "Don't apologize in the same breath you thank me! And it was just me returning the favor. I don't know for sure that I'd have gotten out of that situation if you hadn't done something." She nudges him with her elbow, smiling. "And besides, we both got lots of points for that. I'd say there's nothing owed."

He laughs then, quiet but honest and she feels like it's yet another small victory.

"By the way, Tsuyu was wondering where you were at lunch today," she says. "We _just_ invited you to eat with us the other day, and today you were nowhere to be found. Iida almost convinced us to put together a search party."

Midoriya blinks, surprised. "I was invited today?"

 _Oh,_ Ochako thinks. She would hug him if she was certain it wouldn't make him uncomfortable. But, ah.

"I forgot my wallet at home so I kinda figured that there wasn't a point going to the cafeteria…" His hands fiddle with the straps of his bag. "I just found a shady spot outside and studied. Sorry if you guys thought I was avoiding you."

Ochako shakes her head. "Tell that to Iida. He seemed disappointed."

Midoriya winces, but the expression quickly turns a shade indignant when Ochako laughs at his reaction.

"Well," she says as they exit the building, "thanks for walking me out here. I better go see if Tsuyu made it to the gate before me."

Midoriya just gives her a silent nod and a wave, and turns in the direction of the faculty offices.

She watches him dart away with startling agility, a little bemused. He's one of the friends she's made here, technically the first classmate she had spoken to. The only other two she'd found such easy camaraderie with were Tsuyu and Iida, and she hadn't really spoken to either of them until this past week. He's a little odd, a little awkward, but Ochako knows that she enjoys his company.

She shakes her head and turns to the gates.

Something tells her that this year isn't going to be the simple, predictable high school life that others might associate with the institution. And while part of that is because she's at U.A., she also has a feeling it has to do with her classmates.

Her parents always said that she attracted trouble. Well, her dad said that, while her mom would say that she went looking for it. A rough-and-tumble, adventurous spirit, they called it. It might've been why they hadn't been surprised at her chosen path in life, aside from the fact they knew she wanted to help with the family finances.

Either way, Ochako has already found friends in some of her classmates. She'd already known that the path to heroism wouldn't be an easy one, so having friends to work alongside could only help to motivate.

It's only fair if she tries to help them, too.

* * *

 _If there's one thing I don't like about my life now,_ Midoriya thinks a little morosely, _It's English._

Present Mic's lectures are surprisingly normal in that, minus the visual volume of his hero outfit, Midoriya could expect to see him at any other English lecture. That's not the issue, and it actually makes him admire the pro hero just a bit more.

It's also not that Present Mic isn't a good teacher. The man's teaching style is easy to follow and he pays attention to the levels each student is at, which is surprisingly hands-on. He's a good balance of serious and interesting to keep less enthused students from falling asleep or getting distracted.

It's just… Tedious.

(The man in his memories had a similar relationship with the language despite being passably fluent. His brother had also been fluent in about half the languages in existence, and in their younger years, they'd relied on it quite heavily. It's unfortunate Izuku can't really benefit off of that.)

They're released for lunch after an hour, and Izuku goes face-down on his desk with a sigh. A headache pulses against the walls of his head, but for once, it's without connotation or anxiety and fear—it's just tension.

"Midoriya!" He recognizes the voice as Iida's. "Are you joining us for lunch?"

Izuku nods his head, hand reaching for his bag, grasping the strap, and hanging there. He doesn't make a move to leave his desk.

The next voice comes from a closer proximity after a few seconds. "Midoriya-chan?"

"Hey, Asui," he greets politely. The words come out slurred because his face is currently glued to the surface of his desk. "Are you eating with us today?"

"I think that's the question we're asking you," Tokoyami's voice murmurs from somewhere behind him, and he finally pulls his face from his desk.

He hasn't spoken much with the boy, and he doesn't really know why he makes a point to know Izuku. But it feels wrong to brush him off, somehow.

"Yeah, I am. Just needed a moment to regroup, I guess."

"I don't understand why you are so reluctant when it comes to our English lessons," Iida says with a frown. He's standing closer, now. "You seem to do well in the classes."

Izuku stands from his seat, pulling his bag with him. He doesn't really know how to answer that. "Just a personal preference, I guess?" He pauses as he sees the rest of them standing around, realizing they were all waiting for him. "Oh. Uh, sorry for making you wait. I was just being dramatic."

Uraraka and Asui smile, and Tokoyami shakes his head.

When they get to the cafeteria, Tokoyami sees something that draws his attention and he tells them he'll meet them at the table. Izuku and the rest get in line, the others conversing as Izuku squints at the menu.

He isn't able to decide on what he wants by the time it's his turn, so he just takes the first thing at the serving station and walks up to join his friends as they look for an available table.

"—many people sitting already!"

"—I think I see some available seats on the table by the back."

"But Tsuyu thinks Tokoyami is bringing a friend so we should probably find a table for six." Uraraka turns to Izuku with a smile as he sidles up to them. "Got your food?"

Izuku nods. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing much," Iida replies, glancing down at his food with a look of utmost concentration. Izuku wonders what he sees. "According to Uraraka and Asui, Tokoyami will be bringing another friend. As his other friends, we should save seats for two others."

Izuku bobs his head in acknowledgement. It feels a little more crowded in the cafeteria than usual, somehow, even though there's no reason why it should be.

"Doesn't day-to-day life feel like it's going kinda slow?" Uraraka starts. "I was super pumped to see what U.A. would do, throw us into a pit of snakes or into battle, but it's been so… _Normal_."

Asui presses a finger to her lip. "That sounds like something Kaminari and Ashido might think up, not what Aizawa-sensei would approve of."

"That's true. And it's not that normal is bad, just… It's _U.A._ , y'know?" Uraraka raises her free hand into a fist and slowly punches the air a few times, careful not to jostle her tray. "I was expecting like, wham, bam! Crazy stuff, different from middle school."

Asui smiles, and Iida clears his throat.

"As it so happens, I asked sensei about that the other day after class," he says. "He informed me that the schedule has been moved around to accommodate a personal emergency, but that we should not relax just yet, and I agree. If we don't stay aware, we might be overwhelmed when we least expect it."

Izuku bites into his lip to keep from smiling. Trust Iida to seek answers to questions before everyone else even realizes they have them.

But his interjection reminds Izuku of an idea he'd been considering, and he blurts out the question before he can think better of it. "Hey, do you guys have your own training regimens?"

Asui and Uraraka blink at him for the non sequitur but Iida is quick to reply. "I've been trained up with basic conditioning exercises since I was young. Aside from the standard physical activities for school, I've trained with a focus on speed and agility, and balance for anything else that may help hone my body as a vehicle for heroics!"

"That sounds impressive." Uraraka laughs as she looks up to the ceiling, thinking. "What I've done isn't as professional as that! I just did what we were told to in school, jogged a bit… I was part of a sports club in middle school and played baseball with the boys sometimes. My strength training was pretty limited to helping my mom and dad with the business."

"I've kept pretty fit because of looking after my siblings, but otherwise I've focused on flexibility in my spare time," Asui says. She turns to Izuku. "Why the curiosity?"

Izuku considers his words. "It's pretty obvious that we all have big differences in our current styles right now, however underdeveloped they may be right now. As we adjust further to using our quirks in conjunction to targeted tasks, those differences will only grow. But I was thinking—"

"Ugh, _Deku_."

"Geh, _Kacchan_ ," Izuku tosses back without a twitch. "I was thinking that we could form a training group or something together. We may have our specializations, but this early on, we could work on rounding ourselves out to better prepare for whatever U.A. might have in store for us."

It'd been a topic that he found himself revisiting many times. There are things he wants to be able to accomplish as a hero, and there will always be tasks to complete in his broad—and admittedly somewhat fanciful—goals, many of which will require honed abilities across the board. He's at the starting line where it all begins. _The only way from here is up._

(It speaks a bit of restlessness, for sure, but Izuku thinks it's warranted. They're all on the heroics track and it'll only get more difficult. Being _too_ prepared isn't really a possibility in this instance.)

Uraraka and Iida stare at him strangely. Asui presses her finger into her lip. "Hm."

Izuku feels a bit like he's under a microscope. "You guys don't have to agree to it, of course," he says in a rush. "I just thought I'd throw it out there. We don't have very specific styles this early on, except maybe Iida, so it'd be a good idea to try new things." He pauses, adding a little reluctantly, "Aizawa-sensei said that no good hero only has one trick, and I think that makes a lot of sense. So… What do you guys say?"

"Free table!" Uraraka suddenly shouts, eyes wide, and she veers off to the left sharply. Asui and Iida are quick to follow, and Izuku tries not to feel dejected.

"Gosh, I almost thought we'd be standing through our lunch," she says brightly, settling down into her seat. "Anyway, about what you were saying—I think it sounds like a lot of fun! I don't know how much I could contribute but I'll do my best."

Iida adds his own affirmative as he sits down, and Asui nods her head. The slight tension in Izuku's shoulders loosens.

Tokoyami arrives then, with their classmate, Kouda, in tow. Introductions aren't necessary, but Izuku does ask for confirmation—"Kouda Kouji, right?"—to which the boy gives a hesitant nod.

"Kouda-chan doesn't like to speak much," Asui interjects, and the other boy seems relieved. "He uses sign language."

This forms the topic for a small while, with Kouda showing them a few signs and Tokoyami acting as a sort-of interpreter despite only knowing a handful of signs himself.

Eventually, Tokoyami asks, "What were you guys discussing before we got here?"

Izuku brightens, explaining his idea for group training and his reasoning behind it, watching a spark of interest rise in both of their eyes.

Tokoyami is amenable to the idea, as is Kouda.

"Since Iida is the one with the most structured routine, I think he should lead this. I think he's the most physically fit, too." Izuku pauses, then turns to Iida with a nod in his direction. "I'm in your care."

The others turn to him as well with their own echoes of the sentiment, and Izuku hides a small smile. Iida seems a little off-kilter, but he recovers quickly and is unable to hide that he's pleased. They work together in figuring out the workings of the plan, trying to draw up a schedule where most if not everyone is available, and Iida promises to do his utmost in preparing a training session that won't have them regretting trusting him. Izuku feels weirdly touched at the boy's enthusiasm over the idea.

Conversation lulls a bit from there, when Asui turns to him with unreadable-as-ever eyes.

"What was that earlier?"

Izuku doesn't know what she's talking about. His confusion must show, because Iida is quick to add, "She is referring to your exchange with Bakugou! I have been wondering if you two were friends ever since I heard that you both came from the same middle school, but you do not seem to spend time with him as much as with us. He is also a very robust personality."

"That's one way to put it," murmurs Tokoyami.

Uraraka takes a bite of rice, leaning on her other arm. "I'm curious too. Are you friends? What's going on?" She pauses, brows furrowing. "... He's not being mean to you, is he?"

 _Oh. Huh._ Izuku thinks about his answer and pretends to not notice the five pairs of eyes currently trained on him. "Well, we're… I think we're friends. We've known each other for a while, so I guess we're childhood friends."

"Childhood friends? _Really?_ " The disbelief in Uraraka's tone is palpable. "I mean, I guess I can tell you guys know each other pretty well, but… You guys act a little…"

She trails off as Izuku nods sagely, holding her gaze with grave seriousness. "We've known each other for a _long_ time. Kacchan is just naturally abrasive to everyone, especially people he considers like…" Izuku makes a face. "... Rivals, I guess. I don't really think about him like that though. I think we're a lot closer to siblings. Not entirely willingly associated, but that's just how it turned out."

"Well you're a shitty brother."

Uraraka and Iida jolt in surprise, turning around. Izuku just sighs around his spoon, "Kacchan, how would you even know that when you're an only child and I'm the only person you yell more than three words at?"

"You don't have any siblings either." A pause, and Izuku knows he's paying about as much attention to this exchange as he himself is. "And you're still a shitty brother."

Izuku tries not to roll his eyes. If he's being honest, he doesn't try that hard.

He struggles to stifle a laugh when he sees the pinched look on Iida's face and the way Tokoyami and Kouda watch with varying surprise. Uraraka seems as humored as him, and Asui watches with a knowing look. She probably knows what it's like—she's an older sibling herself.

Inwardly, Izuku considers himself and his once-neighbor. He knows that the other boy wasn't, still isn't, the most well-adjusted kid. Izuku had done what he could as a same-aged equal to nudge him in the right direction, which admittedly isn't much, but at the very least Kacchan knows he isn't infallible. Through the years he's grown a peripheral awareness of his own stubbornness when it comes to certain concepts. Any more change would depend on Kacchan himself, and the people outside of his family that he decides to associate himself with.

Izuku chews his food thoughtfully. The same could be said about him, too. He didn't really have friends before—middle and primary school saw him struggling with memories that weren't his own along with a perception of his all-too-young peers that left an insurmountable rift between them. But now, in high school, that he's more well-adjusted and amongst peers working towards a similar goal…

Well, he's already made some progress, and the hope is that he will be able to make some strong friendships. _It'd be nice to be able to grow up surrounded by people I care about. Lasting bonds that stand the test of time,_ he thinks good-naturedly.

His chewing slows at the thought. He's reminded of his last conversation with All Might, along with a realization he hasn't dedicated enough time pondering out of reluctance.

Regardless of how they fought, clashed, and eventually parted ways, he can admit to wanting to know what happened to the brother in his memories. While a part of him wants to avoid the issue altogether, he can't help wondering if learning a bit more might bring some closure to his situation—and allow him to focus on the relationships he has here, in the now, rather than the regret and emptiness and other bad things of some other life.

There were… His memories, they had times of reprieve. It wasn't all bad, with small moments of peace between brothers shared in their earliest years. Moments free from the tension and clashing views that eventually strained their relationship, from the constant battle for power that destroyed what should have been lasting trust.

Izuku wants to know how that brother's life ended. Partially in acknowledgement of what once was, and so he can move on.

But he doesn't know where to begin in that search. He can't remember dates, names are lost, locations and faces are a vague blur, and what he has to go off of is sparse. The twisted legacy the brother in his memories left was a heavy one no doubt buried as deep as possible, and without specifics he will probably hit a dead end. There isn't much he can do.

"Midoriya?" He pulls himself out of his thoughts at Iida's voice. Uraraka stares at him with a concerned pinch to her brow, Asui, Tokoyami and Kouda watching as well. "Your lip is bleeding, you probably shouldn't touch it so much."

Izuku moves his hand away from his face and sees the small smudge of red staining his nail. He touches his lip— _Yeah, that kinda stings._ He prods a bit more at his lip as he wonders if this has become another habit.

He shakes his head, "I'm fine, sorry, I was thinking about some things. This happens sometimes. It's just a habit." He turns to Uraraka—he thinks she was the last one speaking. "What were you saying?"

The strange look is wiped away and replaced with a grin. "I was saying I like your nicknames for each other. 'Deku' and 'Kacchan'? That's cute!"

Izuku shrugs. "'Kacchan' is just altering the characters of his name like a diminutive. 'Deku' is supposed to be an insult based on a different reading of my characters, a no-good person."

"Oh," she says, frowning. "I thought it was like… It kinda gives the feeling of, 'I can do it!' That's what I thought, anyway."

"I think that's cute," Tsuyu pipes in. Iida immediately tries to jump to his defense, saying that the meaning behind it is decidedly _not_ "cute."

Izuku laughs at their antics, his face warm. "No, you're right, that's a nice way to look at it. If you want to call me that, then go ahead."

"Hm." Tsuyu blinks. She addresses the table at large, "Then call me Tsuyu."

Iida looks torn between honoring Tsuyu's request and his own idea of propriety, and Uraraka grins. Kouda is prodded into quiet conversation as Tokoyami leans back, closing his eyes but seeming comfortable.

It's easy to get caught up in the pattern of school, surrounded by his classmates—friends—like this, being drawn into their varying rhythms. It's easy to relax and feel like the teenager he is.

And it's in this steady peace that he comes to his decision.

 _It's fine._ Bringing up the past only seems to disrupt the natural, peaceful flow of his current life. The world is a far cry from the times of upheaval and terror that his memories remember, there's no reason to dig up the dead—whether it's his memories of a past life, or the past life's brother.

He's here, in the now, and he can just focus on living out his life. The life of "Midoriya Izuku."

He's owed that much at least, he thinks.

* * *

All Might bursts into the room after lunch, shouting, "I hope you're all ready for the real challenges to begin!"

His usual smile is in place, bright as ever, as everyone marvels at the number one's appearance in their classroom.

"I'm sure you've all been very excited to see what else the hero course has to bring. It was a little delayed, and I apologize for that," All Might halts at the podium, striking a pose, "but now starts the next step in defining your futures as young heroes!"

Something in the wall clicks, and columns with numbered boxes slide out of the wall with a mechanic whirring. Izuku realizes All Might wasn't just posing, he was pointing to the wall.

"Today is your first taste of Hero Basic Training, and thus your first big step towards your goal. Of course, you'll need the costumes you filled forms out for." He spins on his heel as students leap from their seats in excitement, cape billowing out dramatically.

"Now go on, don your hero outfits and meet me at Ground Beta. Today, we will be undergoing battle training!"

All Might leaves shortly thereafter and Izuku feels both a little like he was just tossed around by a whirlwind and like he'd just met his favorite hero. Which, both have a measure of truth. He grabs the outfit his mother had sent to the school for inspection, and heads to the lockers.

There's something about this that has a sense of finality. He holds the material in his hands, his pulse a steady but loud rhythm in his ears. Excitement, anxiety, anticipation—he puts on the suit and feels his back straighten reflexively.

Izuku's hero outfit is vastly different from anything else he's ever worn. The material is more flexible than his usual wear, a weatherproof and durable material he couldn't hope to name the specifics of without a list, the fit tighter than he's used to. And yet, it provides an easy comfort. Confidence.

(An outfit he'd designed before, when his dreams were nothing more than reflections of the awed wishes of a child.)

His eyes roam the pale seams of the gloves his mom gifted him. She'd gotten the whole thing for him, but the gloves specifically were custom made.

 _"I wanted to make the gloves special, because I wanted you to feel like—you'll think I'm being silly, but as you grasp your future, I wanted you to feel that I'm with you. I didn't believe you before and I'm sorry about that but—but now, mom knows. I'll be right here for you the whole way."_

At his silence, she'd gone on to reassure him that the gloves were well made, she'd asked a friend, a professional in the industry, to make the gloves.

(He'd hugged her then, arms held firmly around her shoulders.)

Izuku slides the gloves on. He feels the thick material stretch easily across his knuckles as he flexes his hands, the fit snug and comfortable. They're sturdy. Reliable and strong; safe.

 _As always_ , he thinks. He murmurs a quiet thanks under his breath and steps out.

Ground Beta is expansive, an impressive replica of a sprawling city, but they head to a building not far from the entrance. Passing through streets, Izuku realizes it's the one of the areas that had hosted the entrance exam.

All Might briefs them on the plan, two-versus-two indoor battle training, one side as the defending villains and the other as the infiltrating heroes. The villains aim to play keep away with the bomb until the timer ends to win, whereas the heroes need to make contact with the bomb—capture being an option for both.

 _Straightforward,_ Izuku thinks, _and effective._ Not only will it give them a taste of battle with unknown foes, it will force them to adapt to working alongside someone unfamiliar in battle situations.

He gets assigned to Team C with Kacchan and he amends, _Well, it's still a new environment._

Teams E of Iida and Uraraka and A of Tokoyami and Ashido are the first drawn from the lots, villain and hero respectively. The rest head to an observation room and Izuku itches for his notebooks.

Tokoyami and Ashido dart into the building as soon as the preliminary five minutes are up. The room is silent as everyone watches the screens, Uraraka and Iida discussing and getting into character, Ashido and Tokoyami navigating as they keep an eye out for their opponents.

All Might is the only one that can hear what's going on, a communications device fitted into his ear. But the both sides have clearly worked out their individual plans.

First contact is with Uraraka when she nearly traps them with falling debris. Ashido and Tokoyami are quick to react, Dark Shadow forming a defensive shield overhead and acid melting through what passes. Uraraka retreats back to the room housing the bomb and the clash begins.

A dry pressure rests behind Izuku's eyes as he stares at he flickering screens. His mind drifts, but he pulls himself back each time.

The first round ends with Team E victorious, and All Might calls for a huddle to discuss what happened.

"An excellent performance from both teams, you should be proud! Now, can anyone tell me what they believe to be the most outstanding details from the scenario?"

Yaoyorozu is the first—only—to raise her hand. "The cooperation exhibited by both sides is worth noting. Ashido and Tokoyami quickly adapted to each other's fighting styles, both alternating close and long-range without much issue. Uraraka and Iida set up the field extensively and did admirably in keeping the bomb from getting into the other team's hands, using their quirks when necessary and also working in tandem in actual battle. However, the hero team behaved recklessly with acid and wide-strikes in such close proximity to the bomb, the villain team making similar reckless moves in trying to physically maneuver the bomb away. As heroes, defending or retrieving, we need to act in a way that best preserves the surroundings with as little collateral as possible. All in all, both sides started off strong but all strategy and planning were tossed away in favor of a short-sighted goal towards the end." A pause. "I'd say Iida performed the best. He was the only one that went into the trial taking it seriously the entire time. The others underestimated their opponents or got distracted at key points that could've have shifted the odds in their favor."

Izuku had not analyzed nearly _half_ that amount. He feels marginally better at the slack-jawed expressions of his classmates and the clear shock All Might tries and fails to conceal.

"Well, that's… That's very good!" All Might gives her a thumbs up, his grin appearing no less confident than usual. "You mentioned everything I had to say about this round. Very impressive."

All Might draws for the next group. "Teams C and D!"

Something in Izuku's mind snaps to attention and he briefly wonders if it's possible for a person to physically vibrate out of their skin. Uraraka and Iida call out to him for good luck, Tokoyami, Asui, and Kouda giving more subdued acknowledgements, and Izuku remembers to respond in kind.

 _Yaoyorozu and Shouji_ , he considers, rubbing the fabric of his gloves between his fingers. _Yaoyorozu's quirk is creation, I think based on restructuring fat cells into usable items based on atomic structure and knowledge on the working mechanisms of the target object? She has a terrifying mind. Shouji's quirk isn't as easily placed but I doubt it's limited to versatility and enhanced strength._ He doesn't remember the walk to the site.

He's measuring the width and height of the bomb room's entrance when Kacchan calls out to him. "Oi Deku, over here a moment."

"We should split up for now," Izuku says as he jogs over. "Neither Yaoyorozu or Shouji are direct-line fighters, at least not as much as we are. Splitting off would give us a wider scope for what angle they might try in approaching us, since a direct approach is unlikely. One of us should force them here—it shouldn't be too difficult since they'll be aiming for the bomb anyway—and we'll have them cornered for takedown. We don't want to go the time route because it'll give Yaoyorozu more time to plan and I don't know about you but I don't want to give her the chance—"

Kacchan makes a derisive noise. "Whatever, we can do that if we don't think of anything else. I need to know what you can do." He narrows his eyes. "Unless you slacked off and did nothing."

Izuku blinks. Kacchan stares at him expectantly. Izuku blinks again, slower, and then it hits him— _Kacchan doesn't know. He knew my general level before I met All Might, but I've improved a lot since then._

He also has One for All now.

"No new fighting styles or shifts in strategy," he says, tapping fingers in count. "Maybe more refined than before. I started a new training regimen though, so my stamina and strength are significantly higher. I also have a strength quirk now."

Kacchan's head snaps to him so fast Izuku wonders if he hurt his neck. The sound of teeth clicking a moment later tells him that his jaw had been hanging, and he watches sharp eyes narrow. "... How much control do you have?"

"Like a five-year-old you."

A snort. "Then we'll be fine. Plan Box-'Em-and-Kill-'Em's a go, I'll scout out and funnel 'em here. Don't let your trembling fuck you up."

 _Box-'Em-and-Kill-'Em,_ Izuku mouths. "Don't let your confidence get to your head." Due to the bulky gauntlets on his arms, it's only thanks to Izuku's unfortunate familiarity with the other boy that he recognizes the gesture thrown his way as the middle finger it is.

When Kacchan's steps fade, Izuku goes around the room twisting the abundant capture tape around and between the concrete pillars to create a path straight to the bomb. It's a simple and obvious ploy, but if the other team is panicked enough, they'll subconsciously focus on avoiding the obstacles.

As much as he may muse their acquaintance as a one-sided rivalry between two unwilling pseudo-siblings, he can't deny that their dynamic is part of what helped him maintain a sense of who he is.

 _Midoriya Izuku is the only son of Midoriya Inko, the friend of Bakugou Katsuki, and the biggest All Might fan he's ever known. He's quirkless, but he dreams of becoming a hero._

He steps away from the capture tape, measuring out enough left for his opponents. It won't keep them from using the pillar to their advantage, but it'll at least provide an obstacle that could trip them up if harried enough. He walks over to stand before the bomb, ignoring the throbbing at his temples and focuses.

 _Not now,_ he thinks. _Focus on the task. Think like Iida._

Izuku breathes through stretches, feeling his muscles loosen and the jitters die away. His attention sweeps around the room, ears picking up only the sound of fabric and his own breathing, gloved fingertips brushing the floor beneath him for disruption.

 _You are guarding a nuclear weapon in your stronghold. You are a villain. You can't let the heroes get to the bomb. You are a villain._

He hears the approaching sounds of battle, telltale explosions rattling the walls, growing louder, the smell of dust and fire a faint burning in his nose. His vision narrows to a point.

* * *

For Bakugou Katsuki, change came erringly slow with heavy reluctance and occasional denial.

He can't say when he and Deku had started drifting apart, but he'd been fine with it. One more or less head trailing after him, he hadn't given a shit. It hadn't been enough for him to make note of when it first happened, as was the case with anyone else that had attached themselves to him. It'd been no outstanding case, just that he'd known Deku a little more at the time because they were neighbors.

But one day he'd looked Katsuki in the eyes and said he was an equal, no more, no less. Katsuki had scoffed at the weird declaration, given a derisive, "whatever," and hadn't complained when Deku started joining him again on occasion.

It's still _whatever_ , because Deku gets on his nerves even on a good day, but Katsuki can grudgingly admit that there's something about the routine that's almost settling—brothers, Deku had said, he wants to scoff but when he thinks about it it makes some sense—even though he still gets the urge to beat the shit out of him occasionally.

Not as in actual first-and-explosions beat, surprisingly, since the urge to physically wail on people without discernible reason outside of "their existence pissed me off so I decided to take matters into my own hands" had waned a while ago, maybe because that wasn't an accepted activity of heroes, but he definitely _didn't_ shove his test scores in Deku's face when he aced them. Definitely not.

(Read: he definitely fucking did.)

That had the trade-off of Deku being a smart shit in turn and shoving his progress in _Katsuki's_ face (however less blatant), but that was fine. It just meant Katsuki had to be that much better than him the next time.

And it's because of this sort of rivalry, the measuring of progress and competition, that he's noticed.

Katsuki's noticed that Deku changes at times. A shift, and he's acting differently, or not there at all. He never really knew what to do when either happened but it always worked out in the end. Yell loud and long enough or just leave him be, eventually, Deku came back from wherever he'd wandered off to. It never seemed to be a serious or permanent issue, so it'd been left at that.

(He never got why Deku's mom freaked out so much. The relation is definitely there.)

 _But right now,_ Katsuki thinks with gritted teeth and a snarl, _we really don't have time for this._

He can't use the same level of explosive power he'd used before. Not so close to the bomb. Even if it's only a simulation, he knows he's being graded for efficiency and tactics as if it _were_ a real bomb, and using even half his quirk's full capacity this close to a nuke is _fucking stupid._ He takes a (controlled) explosion-boosted leap over Six-arms' sweeping attack, ducks out of the way from a pole to the face courtesy of Ponytail—he narrows his eyes at his teammate standing around like an idiot across the room, head bowed and shoulders slumped.

Deku may be freakish at times but he's got brains that Katsuki really needs focused on the task rather than rotting away in whatever daydream he's caught up in now.

"SNAP OUT OF IT!" His moment of inattention costs him—Ponytail isn't bad with that shitty metal stick or whatever the hell she called it, and Six-arms's got _six fucking arms._

The capture tape lining the room helps keep them from circling him but he misjudges a dodge and ends up getting the business end of Ponytail's stick to the face. " _Fu_ —God _damnit_ that hurts like a—DEKU, WOULD YOU _FUCKING—_ "

A blur of green, and the pole is flung to the other side of the room, one end burying into the wall as it shatters mid-way. Two white gloves dart out, pulling Katsuki away from Six-arms' lunge as Deku kicks around and over to slam a heel into his chest.

A gloved hand snaps outward again before Six-arms goes flying, snagging a limb and pistoning a foot into his face.

 _"No new fighting style" my ass._

Katsuki lets a grin stretch across his face, eyes wide and pupils pinpricks. "Deku, you shit." In all the times they've knocked each other down a few pegs, he's never _fought_ like this. It was always words, calm, quiet reasoning like an immovable wall.

But now? It's like he's finally decided to quit with the long-winded bullshit and jump straight to brawling. He fights like a thug, and it's as hilariously out of place as it is driving.

He flips and lands into a steady crouch, smiling. It's not a nice smile.

… Actually, it kinda reminds Katsuki of—

Deku leaps forward and _through_ one of the pillars Ponytail is hiding behind, she lets out a yelp as he brings a foot down where she was sitting and twists to kick out a chunk of concrete towards Six-arms from an awkward angle but with pinpoint accuracy, backhanding a punch with ease—

—his mom.

Katsuki pauses in his advance, feeling an eyelid twitch and his expression twist at the thought. _That's really fucking weird._

Deku focuses on Ponytail as she whips out weapon after weapon from nowhere, so Katsuki leaps towards Six-arms to push him back from the bomb.

* * *

They aren't doing well.

Momo grits her teeth as she ducks away from a grab and retreats a few meters back with Shouji, their opponents quick to close the distance. She swerves and twists and deflects when she can't dodge, sweat beads on her forehead as Midoriya's arm snaps outwards and disarms her of her newly made shield—it's a dodge-and-punch freestyle that's more rough edges than learned movements but it's _working_ and _is he even using his quirk!?_

Midoriya and Bakugou are two highly offensive fighters while she and Shouji, while versatile, aren't at the same level for direct confrontation like this. Bakugou's strength and aptitude both with and without his quirk are things they'd seen firsthand during Aizawa's test, whereas Midoriya's strength had been more hearsay. Momo hasn't actually seen his quirk, and Shouji only saw the aftermath of it during the exam. But both of them had reasoned that there was enough evidence to assume the worst, pegged Midoriya as on offensive threat approaching Bakugou's level.

Not in complete control of his quirk, she had suggested, which Shouji agreed. His scores during Aizawa's test would have been more outstanding otherwise, instead of at odds with the immense destructive power from the entrance exam.

The point was that they were dealing with two powerhouse quirks and opponents, so they had discussed accordingly.

For planning, the two of them hadn't had many options. The capture tape wasn't going to work very well because of how quick Bakugou was, and Izuku was still more or less a wildcard. Their best bet had then been to head straight for the bomb for capture, keeping in mind the tape if the opportunity presented itself but otherwise not prioritized.

 _Use the tape on Midoriya if it comes to it_ , she'd decided. His apparent lack of control on his quirk was easier exploited, and would make it easier to take him by surprise. Then the two of them would work on trying to outmaneuver Bakugou to the bomb.

All in all, the plan was to avoid the two as much as possible, if confronted by Midoriya try to capture him, and head straight to the bomb.

But that had backfired spectacularly. They'd considered that one of them would come straight for them, but Bakugou had been on them almost as soon as they'd entered—he'd opened with blowing up a portion of an entire floor, blasting them and any possible hiding spots away.

At the time it'd seemed best to try out-pacing him to the bomb. After his flashy move he'd ended up placing them between himself and the path to the top floor, and Momo and Shouji had already decided that Midoriya was the less threatening alternative.

Run as fast as they can, keep Bakugou at their backs, surprise and overtake Midoriya to reach the bomb as planned. It had been their best bet when up against heavy-hitters like these two.

Momo hisses when a glancing blow bruises her arm but recovers in a breath, distantly noting the clatter of her tools as she keeps her focus in front of her. Midoriya's fighting is rough, wild and unpredictable in ways she'd expect more from someone that looks like Bakugou than him, but Momo isn't trained in several forms of combat for _nothing_.

 _He's sloppy,_ she thinks. _Effective and quick enough, but haphazard, which is just as bad for him as it is for his opponent. I just need to wait for an opening._

She blocks a sweeping kick with a wince—he's also far stronger than he looks, and she's going to be hurting for quite a few painful weeks. She dodges a punch, deflects another and ignores the stinging of the unnatural force from the contact, ducks under another kick. He's quick and strong but his movements are _messy_ , and— _there!_

She strikes out with her arm, snaking around his to grasp his shoulder, ignoring how even the redirected force of his blow makes her bones creak—she lets his own momentum carry him and slams his head to meet her knee with a loud _thwack_.

She winces at the sound but is quick to let go, turning to snatch up the discarded tape and eyeing the battle between Shouji and Bakugou. Shouji is losing. She doesn't have time to analyze but she also can't afford to charge in recklessly. She can't rush to the bomb because Bakugou clearly has his attention on defending it despite keeping up with Shouji—perhaps the only reason why he hasn't already ended the fight—and she'll need to tape Midoriya and help as soon as possible but what can she do to—

She barely has the time to duck when she hears the whistling of displaced air behind her, a leg sweeping overhead and she _feels_ the way her hair pulls in the direction of the attack.

She lets her momentum carry her forward into a roll and is forced to twist to the side when a foot lands where she had been kneeling— _lodging into the concrete._

Momo doesn't freeze to stare in horror, she's too disciplined for that, but it's a very near thing.

 _What is this,_ she thinks bemusedly as she's pulled into a fight against Midoriya again. She ducks but it's too close, she twists out of the way but his heel brushes her shoulder and _burns_ —his movements are a far cry from the wild, haphazard brawling they were before, sharp where they were sloppy and contained where they were all-over. His style is refined, _flowing_ , she can't help but think with mounting confusion, he's not even using his arms and he's still doing so well, spinning leaps and angled sweeps of heels—familiarity edges her subconscious and it clicks, _Is he using capoeira?_

His expression is calm and relaxed, his eyes focused and narrow. The concentration she sees in his face reminds her of sparring with her tutors.

It's just as well. Her own focus narrows into firm concentration, she slips into the careful mindset she's trained in for years as her body remembers rote motions and reflexes. Momo materializes the beginnings of a bo from her palm and he ducks the blow but she advances with her staff. Dodge, sweep, deflect, kick—he has significantly less openings than before, and she still aches and bruises where he makes contact, but this is her territory now.

His eyes shift over her left shoulder, distracted. She pulls at the capture tape, _There, now I can_ —

Something slams into her from behind and the breath leaves her, she barely catches herself with her hands and then she's tumbling with the weight at her back— _Shouji_ , she realizes mid-roll—and then she's splayed on the ground looking at the ceiling, capture tape securing her and her partner.

All Might announces Team C the winner. Defeat is a bitter taste on her tongue, but she fought well. Shouji offers her a hand up which she takes with a polite nod, thanking him for his aid. His shoulder twitches in what might be a shrug, and he nods back.

Momo's eyes travel to Midoriya as she listens to All Might's congratulations with half an ear.

She's disappointed at the loss, but she'd say that her and Shouji performed rather well. In the grand scheme of things, she'd even say they did better than Team C—their tactics had been reckless, dangerous in the face of defending a bomb, but they had still emerged victorious. And it wasn't a fluke.

She doesn't know how intentional it was, and how much of a read he'd actually gotten on his opponents, but it'd been a good strategy on Midoriya's part to hide his abilities as he had.

Keeping his opponents on their toes and using a hidden art to not only blind-side but force her to readjust her own style completely—it's a good strategy. Maybe not the first she would have gone with had she been in his position, but it's one of the ones she herself would have considered. It's never a good idea to reveal one's full capacity to the villains you're up against, and it gives you more control of the situation.

Momo has heard of the planned training some of her classmates have considered. _There may be merits of joining the group after all_ , she muses to herself, still watching Midoriya thoughtfully. _It looks like I'd benefit from participating. I could offer quite a bit to the group, too._

It's because she's watching him that she sees Midoriya turn to Bakugou, calm expression shifting into one of alarm and horror as he does a double-take.

She has a moment to wonder at the abrupt shift when her own eyes go wide, watching her classmate's expression go slack, his eyes rolling up and legs going boneless beneath him.

She darts up and catches him before his head hits the ground.

* * *

Inko looks up from the monthly billing statements when she notices the natural light turn orange.

She gathers up the papers into a neat pile and stretches, glancing at the time. _Almost four,_ she thinks, considering options. _I should start preparing dinner. Izuku will be home soon._

Inko smiles at the thought of her son. She wonders how school has been going, and how Izuku has adjusted to not only high school but the hero track.

The doorbell rings just as she's setting out ingredients on the counter. Izuku shouldn't be arriving home for another hour, and besides which he has a key. Even if he forgot his key at home, he knows that the spare is in the lockbox… She glances to the clock again, puzzled. "I wonder who that is?"

When she opens the door, she's met by a boy that looks to be about Izuku's age wearing an unfamiliar school uniform. Ashen blond hair sways with the slightest movement.

"Good afternoon, is this the Midoriya residence?"

Inko blinks, almost missing the quietly spoken question. She nods slowly. "Yes. And you are…?"

"Oh sorry, I'm Yokuo Kyougetsu." His words lack inflection as he speaks, but there's a nervous thread to his movement as he sketches a quick bow. "A, uh, while back, with the villains Magnete and Kingfisher. I'm the person your son saved."

Inko squints as she observes the boy further, his hair moving slightly at a breeze and revealing sunken eyes. It moves like feather down, she realizes.

"The police told me your address. I asked so I could thank your son personally but that took a while because of the nature of my request and privacy and, bureaucracy, I guess? Uh." He slowly pulls his hands out of his pockets. "By the way, is he here? Your son."

His nervousness reminds her a bit of Izuku's own personality. Though, based on the pallor to his skin, the dark circles under his eyes and his scraggly hair (feathers?) she suspects it may be for different reasons.

"He hasn't come home from school yet, but he'll be here soon." She steps back from the entrance, leaving the door open. "If you want, you can stay until he gets back."

"Thank you," he murmurs, voice almost too quiet to hear. She walks down the hall as he slips out of his shoes and tucks them in the corner. "Sorry to intrude."

While this is unexpected, something warms in Inko's chest knowing that this boy is grateful for her son's actions. When she asks if he'd like something to drink, he asks for water and she settles him in the living room. Inko returns to cooking as Kyougetsu busies himself with the TV, conversation sparse.

 _It's a little awkward,_ she thinks with a humored smile. _All Izuku was interested in were heroes, so that's the only young-kids thing I really know. Ask me anything about heroes, but pop stars? Actors? Well, All Might has done a bit of both for the public, right?_

She laughs at the thought. When Kyougetsu turns to her questioningly, she shakes her head with a smile.

A quiet "I'm home" and the shutting of the front door lets her know Izuku's back. She gives a reflexive "welcome back" and glances up when her son walks into the room, shoulders low and gaze distant.

Inko recognizes that look. She gestures him over to draw him into a hug that he leans into. He doesn't comment when she lets the embrace last a little longer than usual, only squirming when she presses a kiss to the top of his head.

She smiles into his hair and lets go, guiding him to the living room area. "Dinner should be ready soon. You have a visitor."

If she didn't know her son as she did, she would have missed the brief flicker of tension across his shoulders. It's gone in a blink, posture relaxing into something more approachable and calm as opposed to the bone-weary exhaustion from earlier.

He still gives her a slightly pained look. "You couldn't have warned me?" he mouths.

Despite his hesitance he doesn't wait to be told again before he's heading into the living room area. Inko returns to the kitchenette as introductions are made, keeping some of her attention to the conversation as she continues her tasks.

"—really grateful for you helping me. I know that a lot of people were angry at you for doing that, but… Really, thank you. My brother wanted to thank you for him, too, and if you met him you'd know that's a pretty big thing."

"Oh." A pause. "You're welcome."

Inko hums quietly, eyes focused pointedly to the cutting board as she tries not to smile.

"I wanted to ask, too, what made you run out there? All the heroes were talking about recklessness and immaturity, but I wanted to hear from you."

"Um, I mean I don't think the heroes said that in a mean-spirited way, that's probably what it looked like to them. Maybe 'reckless' isn't entirely inaccurate, I had a plan but it wasn't very solid and… I kinda just," Inko sees him gesture with his hands, mimicking a plane taking off. "Went?"

Kyougetsu nods. "I thought so, it wasn't as clear-cut as the heroes thought. Say, that's U.A.'s uniform, isn't it? You're becoming a hero?" Izuku must nod, because the boy continues, "I knew it! I had a feeling you were aiming to be a hero, and—to be honest, after that day I decided I wanted to be a hero, too. I didn't get accepted to U.A., the best hero school, but I'm a student at Isamu Academy!"

Inko connects the familiar emblem she'd seen on his blazer to the name. Isamu Academy had been one of the other schools Izuku had looked into.

Like a light switch, the mention of heroism has Izuku engaged in the conversation with ease. Inko's son asks Kyougetsu about his quirk, the two discussing the applications and possibilities, they talk about their schools, compare experiences, and while Inko catches the way Izuku deflects from revealing anything about the day or this "battle training," he's absorbed in the conversation.

She doesn't know what happened today. Izuku has been having a great time at U.A. thus far, and he's told her about everything from how it's surprisingly normal to the new classes and friends he has. When he'd walked in it'd been with the same distance and faraway look that he'd displayed at his worst, something she hasn't seen for years, and Inko had been prepared to fall into their routine for the situation.

She turns off the faucet and dries her hands with a towel as she turns around. Izuku isn't quite smiling, more a restrained upturn of the corners of his mouth than what she knows his brightest smiles can look like. But his eyes shine with excitement and energy.

Inko walks into the living room area and both boys turn to look at her. "Kyougetsu, would you like to stay for dinner?" When his eyebrows shoot up, she smiles. "Please don't feel as though you're imposing. You're technically the first friend Izuku has brought home for me to meet, even if you were the one that came here of your own accord."

Her son rubs his arm, muttering something apologetic-sounding under his breath at her pointed comment. Kyougetsu just nods with a poleaxed look.

 _That might just be his eyes, actually,_ she considers. The dark circles certainly don't help make him look calm and rested, at least.

She doesn't give voice to her thoughts and turns to Izuku. "If you'd like, you don't need my permission to bring your friends over. I'd love to meet them." She returns to the kitchenette, the two awkward teens on her heels to help set up the table.

It's been a whirlwind of activity. Her son's renewed determination and dream, him training for a year despite his setbacks, entering and _passing_ the U.A. exam, manifesting such a powerful quirk, and now being a student at U.A. on his way to becoming the hero he's always wanted to be. It's a little overwhelming for Inko. She's always worried about how he's fairing, not just academically or physically—how he feels, what's going on in his mind, if he needs help.

But she's happy for him.

And despite all that has happened, it's here, knowing that her son has saved someone—before all of that happened, while he was still her quirkless but determined, strong-willed son—knowing that he's making friends…

This is what makes her own resolve strengthen.

Izuku gives her a reflexive, slightly questioning smile when she gives his shoulders an affectionate squeeze.

She shakes her head. _It's nothing,_ the gesture seems to say, even though for her it's everything.

Dinner is quick and filling, and when Kyougetsu leaves it's with a confused look from Izuku and his email.

As Izuku is about to get ready for bed, Inko calls him over. He makes an inquisitive noise but she doesn't respond, instead gesturing to his arm. Bemused, he complies.

She quietly runs her fingers over the creases of his hand. She can still remember the day she'd held him on her chest after a long night at the hospital, his hands not even the size of her palm and held in tiny, tiny fists. She remembers grasping tightly to his hands on especially bad nights during his childhood, when he was too shaken and claustrophobic for a restricting embrace but the warmth of her hand was a soothing alternative. Now, his hands are larger than her's.

"You know you can talk to me, right?"

Izuku stiffens.

"You don't have to. As long as you're getting support from somewhere, even though it might make me a little sad, then it's fine. But if you _want_ to talk to me, or you need help… you know, right?"

She's still a little surprised when Izuku's other hand closes over hers, grip loose but warm.

"... I do know," he says, voice quiet. "Thanks, I do. But just… not yet."

Inko worries about him. She wants to ask for answers, demand them, wants to make sure her son is as well as he can be, that there isn't something else going on that she doesn't know. She _worries_ about him.

(She's his mother. Maybe, she'll never stop worrying about him.)

She nods, letting go of his hands. She hugs him instead of drawing away, however, trying to put as much comfort and assurance into the gesture. Izuku makes a whining noise when he tries to pull away at about four seconds and she doesn't let go.

She laughs, then, and finally lets him wander off to his room, telling him to gather up his colored laundry because she'll be doing a couple loads tomorrow. Izuku shouts an affirmative her way, and the door closes.

 _It'll be okay,_ she tells herself. Inko can't push for answers that Izuku himself might not even have. She fears for the future, can't completely reason away the nervousness that grips her chest, but… it'll be okay, she thinks.

And even if it isn't, she'll do her best to make it okay.


End file.
